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DAISY DELLS 

RHYMES AND VERSES 





































































X. 

























































































































Thus arrayed, and bearing burdens, 
Forth for home they boldly fared. 

From the Poem, "Saved By April Fool” page 92 







DaisyDells 

^Rumes and Verses 

Clara JDenton 

<^/[iztPLor o£ 

Dentotvs Best Plays andDialo^ues 
Deni on’s Program Boole etc. 



Illustrated by 

Garnett Cheney 
Just£Zig>££B ooks" 
Albert Whitman & Co. 

‘Publishers 

Chicago U.S.A. 

r 1°!^ 














DAISY DELLS—RHYMES AND VERSES 

Copyright 1927 

By ALBERT WHITMAN & COMPANY 



“A Just Right Book” 
Made in the U. S. A. 


OCT 22 '27 

©ClA100a761 







To My Beloved Daughter, 

Mamie A. Denton 

Without whose devoted and efficient aid, 
this and many other books would have been impossible. 













PREFACE 

The best of many verses and rhymes that Clara J. Denton has written 
during the past twenty years have been gathered together in this collection. 

Most of them have been published in magazines devoted to literature for 
children, but the time has come to place them in a form more readily 
obtainable and less perishable. 

Here we learn of the sad plight of Mr. Marmaduke Knight. 

Though he pondered and puzzled all day 
He found he had nothing to say — 

the unfortunate tragedy that attends many a young and ambitious author; 
and we are told how 

The comma and the period, 

The semi-colony too, 

Met on a printed page, one day, 

And made a sad ado; 

for no other reason than the fact the semi-colon said: 

(< For I have seen a question mark 
That stood upon his head.” 

These and many other curious things are related together with more 
charming verses—rhymes and verses that visualize the laughter of children, 
the patter of little feet, the songs of the birds, and Mother Nature in her 
many colorful moods and seasons. 









































































ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

This collection of verses for children represents the best of those I have perpetrated during 
the last twenty-five or more years. Consent has been given for their reproduction here and 
due credit is here given. Many of these periodicals have ceased to exist, but during their activity 
they were so well known that I am glad to be counted among their contributors. Other 
publications, quite as worthy but short lived, would mean nothing to the readers of this book, 
therefore their names are omitted. Author 


All Aboard for Shut-Eye-Town 

At Christinas Time. 

At Bedtime. 

At Twilight . 

A Bad Spell.. 

Bless ’Em. 

Blue Bird. 

Bobbie at School. 

Bob White. 

The Boy Who Cannot Cry. 

Bringing Them True. 

A Bunch of Letters. 

Busy Fairies. 

The Chewink. 

Christmas. 

A Christmas Conclusion. 

Christmas Eve. 

A Christmas Lesson. 

A Christmas Prayer. 

Circus . 

A Complaint. 

The Crow. 

A Cry Baby. 

A Disappointed Company. 

Discontent. 

The Dinner Tree. 

Do You?. 

The Eagle and the Wren. 

Everywhere . 

Farmer Brown and Justice. 

A Feathered Teacher. 

Fireflies . 

Fireworks . 

The Fourth and the Fifth. 

The Frown’s Companion. 

Grandfather’s Fire . 

The Giggling String. 

Gossip. 

His Resolve . 

The Hungry Boy. 

If I Could. 

If You Want to Be Loved. 

Important . 

In a Peanut Shell. 

In Maytime . 

Jack Frost . 

Just in Style. 

Kinds of Words. 

The Little Boy and the Trees. . 

A Little Boy’s Puzzle. 

Little Kittie Whiner. 

Little Feet. 

The Lonesome Child. 

The Magic Loom. 


.Our Little Ones 

.Progressive Teacher 

.Our Little Ones 

.Sunshine 

.St. Nicholas 

.Progressive Teacher 

.Progressive Teacher 

.Home and School 

.Standard Designer 

.Golden Days 

.East and West 

.King’s Own 

.Progressive Teacher 

.Michigan Farmer 

.East and West 

...New York Independent 

.Christian Intelligence 

.King’s Own 

.Good Cheer 

.Farm Journal 

.Normal Instructor 

.King’s Own 

.Golden Rule 

.Golden Days 

.Progressive Teacher 

.Churchman 

.Ladies’ World 

.Golden Days 

.Puck 

.Youth’s Companion 

.Detroit Free Press 

. . . Kindergarten Magazine 

.Golden Days 

.Golden Days 

,....Sunday School Times 

.Jewels 

.Youth’s Companion 

.. . New York Independent 

.Jewels 

.Jewels 

.Jewels 

Penn Publishing Company 

.Progressive Teacher 

.Golden Days 

.Churchman 

.Jewels 

.Los Angeles Times 

.Progressive Teacher 

. . . . Kindergarten Magazine 

.Jewels 

...New York Independent 

.Progressive Teacher 

.Child’s Gem 

.Traveller’s Record 
























































Many Birds of Many Kinds.. 

The Meadow Lark. 

Mother. 

Mother’s Boy . 

My Mother’s Face. 

My Mother’s Smile. 

A Name for the Baby. 

A Narrow Escape. 

The Need. 

Neglect. 

Nobody’s Cat. 

The Nonsense Wheel. 

Not His Fault. 

On Christmas Morning. 

An Order for Removal. 

Packed Astronomy. 

Patience . 

Patty Grimm. 

Perplexed . 

The Plaster. 

A Possible Tragedy. 

The Pormise. 

The Quail. 

The Queen of Toloo. 

A Queer Clock. 

A River of Tears. 

The Robin.. 

The Robin’s Song. 

The Runaway. 

Sad Case of Clementine Isabel 

A Sad Plight. 

A Sad Singer. 

A Safe Secret. 

The Saplings. 

Saved by April Fool. 

The Sea . 

The Secret Keeper. 

Selling the Baby. 

Shutting Out the Tear Man. .. 

The Small Light. 

Something to Be Thankful For 

A Song of Cheer. 

Summer Roll Call. 

The Summer Wind. 

The Sun Dial. 

The Spiders that Danced. 

Staying Awake . 

The Thief. 

To the Wren. 

The Trap the Fox Made. 

The Universal Zoo. 

Welcome to March.. 

What For?. 

When the Snow Comes. 

“Where It Listeth”. 

Which Way?. 

Which One?. 

Why? . 

Why Tommy Went Barefoot. . 

The Winners. 

With Mary Ann. 

The Wondrous Night... . 


.Progressive Teacher 

.Progressive Teacher 

.Home and School 

.Sunshine 

.East and West 

.King’s Own 

.Good Housekeeping 

.Christian Union 

.Progressive Teacher 

.Traveller’s Record 

.Demorest’s Magazine 

.. .Progressive Teacher 

.Home and School 

.Jewels 

.Youth’s Companion 

.King’s Own 

.Progressive Teacher 

.The Living Church 

.Puck 

.Farm Journal 

.Holland’s Magazine 

.Springfield Republican 

.King’s Own 

.Wide Awake 

.Jewels 

.Our Little Ones 

.East and West 

.King’s Own 

.Christian Union 

Woman’s Home Companion 

.Wide Awake 

.Churchman 

.Golden Days 

.Progressive Teacher 

.St. Nicholas 

.Education 

.Golden Rule 

.Golden Days 

..Sunshine 

.Progressive Teacher 

.Normal Instructor 

.East and West 

.Progressive Teacher 

.Ladies’ World 

.Churchman 

.Wide Awake 

.Jewels 

.King’s Own 

.Churchman 

.Progressive Teacher 

.King’s Own 

.Kindergarten Magazine 

.Normal Instructor 

.Kindergarten Magazine 

.Churchman 

.Harper’s Young People 

.Progressive Teacher 

.King’s Own 

. Sunshine 

.Progressive Teacher 

.Woman’s Home Companion 
.Primary Plans 
































































CONTENTS 


PART ONE 

FUN AND FANCY 


The Saplings . 

If You Want to Be Loved.... 

Little Feet . 

Important . 

Which Way? . 

My Fairies . 

Mother . 

Patty Grimm . 

In May Time. 

Four Little Fishermen. 

The Cricket’s Song. 

The Secret Keeper. 

When Teddie Is Asleep. 

Grandfather’s Fire . 

In a Peanut Shell. 

“Girlstrous” . 

At Bed-Time . 

A Disappointed Company. 

The Nonsense Wheel. 

A River of Tears. 

All Aboard for Shut-Eye-Town 
The Boy Who Cannot Cry.... 

The Frown’s Companion. 

Selling the Baby. 

Why Tommy Went Barefoot.. 

Little Kittie Whiner. 

The Summer Roll Call. 

The Sun-Dial . 

Some Explanations . 

The Giggling String. 

The Last Ball. 

Fireworks . 

The Plaster. 

The Runaway . 

What Is Sweeter?. 

Gossip . 

The Queen of Toloo. 

An Order for Removal. 

No Admittance . 


Page 
. 21 
, 22 
23 
. 24 
, 25 
. 26 
. 28 
. 28 
30 
30 
, 33 
34 

36 

37 
, 38 

40 

41 
41 

46 

47 
. 48 

50 

52 

52 

55 

56 
. 57 

58 
. 59 
62 
62 
. 63 
66 
. 67 
. 68 
. 68 
. 70 
. 71 
. 72 


13 









































CON T ENTS —C o ntinued 


Page 

A Sad Plight. 74 

The Spiders that Danced. 75 

Perplexed . 76 

Shutting Out the “Tear-Man - ’. 77 

The Dinner Tree. 78 

A Bloodless Battle. 79 

The Fourth and the Fifth. 81 

Circus . 83 

Farmer Brown and Justice. 84 

The Small Light. 86 

With Mary Ann. 87 

Where It Listeth. 88 

Neglect . 89 

A Bad Spell. 89 

A Possible Tragedy. 90 

What For? . 90 

Saved by April Fool. 92 

A Hungry Boy. 94 

Packed Astronomy . 95 

The Universal Zoo. 96 

His Resolve . 98 

“Not His Fault”. 98 

Welcome to March. 100 

Bless ’Em . 100 

The Sad Case of Clementine Isabel. 102 

The Need . 102 

The Sea . 103 

A Bunch of Letters. 103 

The Trap the Fox Made. 105 

Everywhere . 106 

The Fireflies ... . 107 

Busy Fairies . 108 

Staying Awake. 110 

Reversed . Ill 

“Stolen Sweets” . 112 

Jack Frost . 114 

The Little Boy’s Puzzle. 115 

A Problem in Peas. 116 

Discontent . 117 

The Little Boy and the Trees. 118 

When the Snow Comes. 118 

Bobby at School. 120 

A Queer Clock. 122 

Something to Be Thankful For. 123 

The Lonesome Child.. . 124 

Patience . 124 


14 
















































CONTENTS —C ontinued 


PART TWO 
BIRDS 

Page 

The Promise. 126 

The Robin. 127 

Bob White . 128 

A Safe Secret. 130 

Birdie’s and Mine. 131 

The Eagle and the Wren. 133 

To the Wren. 135 

The Crow . 136 

If I Could. 136 

The Selfish Sparrow. 138 

The Blue Bird. 140 

Which One? . 142 

The Chewink . 143 

The Quail . 144 

The Meadow Lark. 145 

The Robin’s Song. 146 

So Few . 146 

Two Promenaders . 148 

Fuss and Feathers. 149 

A Sad Singer. 151 

The August Song. 152 

The Oriole . 153 

A Feathered Teacher. 154 

The Unwelcome Visitor. 156 

The Traveled Hen. 158 

“Many Birds of Many Kinds”. 160 

The Whip-Poor-Will . 161 

The Wanderer . 162 

The Peewee . 162 

PART THREE 
CHRISTMAS AND OTHERS 

Why? . 166 

Christmas Cheer . 166 

On Christmas Morning. 167 

Christmas . 1^ 

Old Santa’s Hard Times. 168 

A Christmas Lesson. 1'8 

One Perfect Night. 1^6 

The Wondrous Night. 177 


15 







































CONTENTS —C ontinued 


A Christmas Prayer... 

Christmas Eve. 

A Narrow Escape. 

Bringing Them True... 
At Christmas Time.... 
A Christmas Conclusion 
The Summer Wind.... 

Do You? . 

Mother’s Boy . 

A Song of Cheer. 

A Name for the Baby. 

At Twilight . 

Baby’s Answer. 

A Remedy . 

Nobody’s Cat. 

In the Fashion. 

My Mother’s Smile. 

At the Zoo. 

Honest Eyes . 

The Lost Lesson. 

The Winners . 

The Tell-Tale . 

Kinds of Words. 

A Complaint . 

My Mother’s Face. 

The Thief . 

‘‘Just in Style”. 

A Cry Baby. 

The Magic Loom. 

The Last Word. 


Page 

178 

179 

180 
183 

183 

184 
186 

187 

188 

189 

190 

191 

193 

194 
196 

198 

199 

199 

200 
202 

203 

204 

205 

206 
208 
208 
210 
211 
212 
217 


16 
































LIST OF FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 

Thus arrayed, and bearing burdens, forth for home they boldly fared.Frontispiece 

When the wind is blowing, see them swing and sway. 20 

I’ve been told the fairies wear it. 31 

How do you know so well on whom those brown, beseeching eyes to turn?. 35 

All aboard for “Shut-Eye-Town”. 49 

Well, see how he’s laughing, the dear!. 53 

The wind and the snow in vain beat against my window pane. 73 

They put him in a jam-pot big. 91 

To the little birds that stray one must point the homeward way. 109 

We have made a snow man. 119 

I had to dig down in the dirt. 121 

Glad in the sunshine, care-free forever. 129 

So call away, crow, with your coal black throat. 137 

Robin, robin, sing your song. 147 

Hard by, in yon oak, his brown nest is swinging. 155 

Old Santa Claus sat in his wide cushioned chair. 169 

Old Santa is coming, rare treasures he brings. 185 

If I only could wake some morning and find my boyhood and school days left far behind.. 195 

No change I fear while waiting near my mother’s face. 209 

For it changed to rags beneath their eyes. 213 


17 





















/ 





18 






DAISY DELLS 

RHYMES AND VERSES 

PART ONE 
FUN AND FANCY 


19 








When the wind is blowing, see them swing and sway 
























THE SAPLINGS 


Tender little saplings 
Growing in the sun, 

Playing with the breezes 
Merry, every one. 

Slender little saplings, 

When the days are long, 

Stretching and stretching, 
Growing tall and strong. 

When the wind is blowing, 
See them swing and sway; 

Tiny branches tossing 
Every leaf at play. 

“Now we’re very slender, 
But some day you’ll see 

Every little sapling 

Grown a tall oak tree.” 

“Then the happy songsters 
In our arms will rest, 

And the mother birdie 
Build her cozy nest.” 

Graceful little saplings 
Growing in the sun, 

Playing with the breezes 
Merry, every one. 


21 


IF YOU WANT TO BE LOVED 


“Alas! no one loves me,” a little maid sighed, 

And high in an elm tree a bluebird replied 
(His music was set in a soft minor key), 

“If you want to be loved, you must lovable be.” 

“O, what shall I do?” said this poor little maid, 

And the curl of her lip the secret betrayed, 

“My skin is like lilies, just lovely my hair, 

My dresses are fine, my jewels are rare. 

“But wherever I go they cry in disdain, 

‘Ho. there is Miss Lofty,’ their scorn is quite plain; 

If money could win them they’d love me, I know, 

But they toss back the gifts I so proudly bestow. 

“There’s little Meg Merry, so poor and so plain, 

Yet she wanders about like a queen with her train!” 
Then the bluebird sang loud from his perch in the tree, 
“If you want to be loved, you must lovable be.” 

But she heard not a word of the bird’s merry song, 
Growing vainer and prouder as years passed along. 

So foolishly fond of her own self was she 
She not for an instant could lovable be. 

Yes the song of the bird was true every word, 

And a maxim more clear has never been heard, 

So ponder the words of the bird in the tree, 

“If you want to be loved, you must lovable be.” 


22 


LITTLE FEET 


Over head and on the stair, 

Patter, patter everywhere. 

Is there other sound so sweet 
As the tap of little feet? 

Lightsome, ceaseless, happy tread, 
When all other joys are fled, 
Eagerly I wait to hear 
That familiar sound so dear. 

Restless feet, a tune they play, 
Rhythmic melody so gay, 

And no other sounds I know 
Harmonies so sweet bestow. 

Listening, I wonder whence 
Gomes the music they dispense, 
Whence the magic they impart, 
Cheering every way-worn heart. 



23 


Over head and on the stair, 
Sending gladness everywhere, 
While the wheel of life goes round 
May I never miss that sound. 


□ □ □ 


IMPORTANT 

’Tis not the thing you say, 

But just the way you say it, 
Remember well this rule 
And faithfully obey it, 

Be careful of your tones 
Since love they often sever, 
Forgotten soon are words, 

But tones ring on forever. 

They tell us thoughts are things, 
But tones are far more clinging, 
In ears of those we love 
Persistently they’re ringing. 

So keep this rule in mind 
And faithfully obey it, 
Whatever you may say, 

Be careful how you say it. 


24 


WHICH WAY? 


Once there was a little maid 
Who grew so cross each hour 
That everyone who knew her said, 
“She’ll turn all sweet things sour.” 
There was another little maid 
Who was so very sweet 
That everyone who saw her said, 
“She’s sweet enough to eat.” 

Now, if this little maid so good 
Should meet the one so cross 
I wonder if there’d be a change 
And which w r ould suffer loss? 



25 




MY FAIRIES 





Millions of fairies, 

On the dusty way. 

Even into cities 

Fairies sometimes stray. 


Millions of fairies 
Glad in crystal white, 
O’er the dingy pavement 
Flit like shreds of light. 


Here no flowers linger 
Hid in brown beds deep, 
Crocuses or daisies 
Wrapped in winter’s sleep. 


But the old bricks laughing, 
Doff their robes of gray. 
Dirt and grime these fairies 
Banish far away. 


26 








Dance, oh, tiny fairies! 

O’er the pavement worn, 
Blithely tap your footsteps 
In the dusky morn. 

Now the sun with ribbons 
Decks the forms of grace, 
Tints all rose and golden 
Find a fitting place. 

But the steps grow slower; 

Fear they then the sun? 
Flitting are my fairies— 
There, the dance is done! 

I “an idle dreamer,” 
Nothing but the rain 
Beating on the pavement 
’Neath my window pane? 

Out upon such eyesight 
That could only see 
Solemn, weeping rain drops, 
In such fairy glee. 


27 










MOTHER 


Little girl and little boy, 

Cherish well your mother, 

For you, ’tis true, this wide world 
Does not hold another. 

Little boy and little girl, 

Help her every hour, 

Words are well enough, but deeds 
Have the greater power. 

And as all the busy years 
Roll themselves along 
If your mother you obey 
You cannot go wrong. 


□ □ □ 


PATTY GRIMM 

Pray, have you heard of Patty Grimm? 

A most unfortunate child is she; 

When you have heard her story through, 
I’m sure you’ll quite agree with me. 

For Patty’s eyes can only see 
The faults and flaws in everything; 

She whines o’er this, and frets at that, 
Till peace and happiness take wing. 


28 


Alas! poor child, what can she do? 

There’s nothing right in life below, 

The sky’s too blue, or else too dark, 

And time too fast, or else too slow. 

A book’s too dull, or else too light, 

Her friends too gay, or stupid all, 

Her work too hard, her play too rough, 
Her clothes too large, or else too small. 

From day to day she plucks life’s thorns, 
And throws the flowers fair away. 

Alas! alas! she must become 
A very thorny Miss some day. 

Her face has quite forgotten all 
The tender smiles of baby days, 

Her frowns—alack! so fast they come 
Her brow is like a woody maze. 

What can we do for Patty Grimm? 

For this is what we sorely dread, 

That should she reach sweet heaven at last, 
She’ll wish ’twas somewhere else instead. 



29 


IN MA Y TIME 


On the hill-side brightest green, 
Dandelion’s gold between, 

And I hear a bee’s soft humming, 
Yet how fast the snow is coming. 
Flakes of white are everywhere 
On the ground and in the air! 

Do you laugh because together 
Thus I seem to mix the weather? 
But obedient to the breeze 
Falls the snow from apple trees. 
Coming lightly all the day 
Yet how soon it fades away. 

Here’s a secret, you may share it— 
I’ve been told the fairies wear it! 
What could be more soft and airy? 
Don’t you wish you were a fairy, 
Thus to wear a suit complete, 

From an apple blossom sweet? 


□ □ □ 


FOUR LITTLE FISHERMEN 

Four little fishermen, ho! ho! ho! 

Away to the creek they merrily go. 

Four little fishermen, hi! hi! hi! 

Bass by the dozen tonight you can buy. 
Four little fishermen, ho! ho! ho! 

See them all marching away in a row. 


30 
















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Vve been told the fairies wear it. 




























There are Willie and George, and Henry and Jack, 

The sun will be low when they come marching back, 
For down at the creek there is so much to do. 

The trees are so green, and the sky is so blue, 

While the oriole’s song and the bob-o-link’s lay, 
Complete the sweet charms of the bright summer day. 

Four little fishermen, ho! ho! ho! 

Who wouldn’t go fishing, I’d like to know? 

Who wouldn’t be happy with hooks and with lines? 

Who wouldn’t be gay when the summer sun shines? 

O, great men I’ve seen, but never before 
Such wonderful fishermen went from my door. 



32 



THE CRICKET’S SONG 


What does Mr. Cricket say 
In his crevice hid away? 

Hark! this is what he says, 

“Zid, zid, zidder zee.” 

Chirping thus incessantly. 

O, cricket dear, with all the world for range, 

Your work why don’t you change, 

Nor stay here thus unceasingly? 

With your “zid, zid, zidder zee, zidder, zidder zee.” 
For that is such a stupid thing 
To say with your black wing, 

You funny little elf. 

I’d think you’d quite despair 
In listening to yourself, 

And want to change your air, 

With your “zid, zid, zidder zee, zidder, zidder zee.” 



33 


THE SECRET KEEPER 


Gome sir, and answer all the questions put to you 
Just as a well-bred dog should always do, 

And first, I’ll know (now listen) how you found today 
The road I went, through wood and field, a winding way. 
There’s something else I’d like to have you tell, 

When hungry, sir, how do you know so well 
On whom those brown, beseeching eyes to turn? 

The generous hands how can you, pray, so quickly learn? 
And this I also wish you would disclose, 

How do you know at once, kind friends from foes? 

And tell me too, how is it you can keep 
Those ears alert while you are sound asleep? 

To all these questions, sir, why have you no reply? 

I’m sure that you could talk if you would only try, 

But ah, you cunning rogue, I know you slyly think 
“I’ll keep the secrets,” so you only sit and wink. 

I do believe if I inside your head could see 

I’d find that all this while you’re making fun of me. 


34 



How do you know so well on whom those brown, beseeching eyes to turn? 










































WHEN TEDDIE IS ASLEEP 


Ah! There is silence in the house! 
No shout upon the stairs, 

No clattering of chairs, 

Indeed I think we’d hear a mouse, 

If one should chance to stir. 

The rocking horse, with bridle loose, 
Stares blankly at the wall, 

While motionless the ball 

Lies near the painted, wooden goose, 
Whence now no squeak is heard. 

Yonder a train of cars is ditched, 
Behind some building blocks 
Quiet hides “Jack-in-box,” 

While to the table legs is hitched 
No basket, box, or cart. 

What means it all, this silence deep, 
This peace so blessed and sweet, 
This comfort so complete? 

It means wee Teddie is asleep, 
Whist! Hush! or all will change. 



36 








GRANDFATHER'S FIRE 

“Snap, snap, snap,” goes the fire 
all day, 

Here at my grandfather’s 
house; 

“Snap, snap, snap,” I listen hard, 

As still as any mouse. 

At our old city house we have 

A radiator tight, 

It just goes “sissing, sissing, 
siss,” 

With never any light. 

At night the light from grand¬ 
father’s fire 

Shines most as bright as day; 

We children sit and watch the 
flames, 

And sometimes games we 
play. 

We give the shadows funny 
names, 

Sometimes some queer ones 
come; 

Sometimes like giants they are 
big, 

Sometimes they’re like Tom 
Thumb. 



37 














And when we’re tired of all the rest 
We listen everyone, 

For that “snap, snap”—say, don’t you think 
This is the place for fun? 

And would you want to go back home 
To fires that never snap? 

I know, I’ll go right off and hide 
My gloves, my coat and cap. 

And then they can’t make me go back 
Where fires don’t snap at all, 

And where the shadows never dance 
Across the pictured wall. 


□ □ □ 


IN A PEANUT SHELL 

Two little tailors, it once befell, 

Went out to sail in a peanut shell; 

They were very small, these tailors two, 
About the size of a spider’s shoe. 

But, then, they felt so large, you see, 

For one was tailor to King Pedee; 

The other a man of great renown, 

Who cut in the lastest style, the down 
Of the great and brave King Bumble-bee, 
The mightiest monarch on land or sea. 


38 


(I’ve heard of men of smaller claims, 

And fewer deeds to gild their names, 

Who in their own opinions grew 
Quite as fast as these tailors two.) 

Now be it known that, ’mong fairy kings, 

The great Pedee wore the brightest wings, 

They were dotted with purple and edged with gold, 
And were really wonderful things to behold. 

But sometimes amid a bloody affray— 

For Pedee was warlike, I’m sorry to say— 

They came to their home so marred by tears 
That the tailor was brought to make repairs; 

And while his mite of a needle would sew 
King Pedee would boast o’er his fallen foe. 

And so this tailor came to think it fun 
(By the way, his name was Hiddle-dee-dun.) 

To fiercely dash at some dreadful foe 
And laugh at last o’er his overthrow. 

And this was the reason these tailors two 
Serenely sailed o’er the waters blue; 

For where could more frays and foes betide 
Than afar in a peanut shell to glide? 

And where could a better man be found 
To tell his deeds of valor around 
Than he who of all the fairy town 
Arranged each day the royal down? 

Thus with many a plan his bosom burned, 

He would own the world ere he homeward turned. 
And they might have sailed till the end of time, 

And you’d have been spared this jumbling rhyme. 


39 


But Hiddle-dee-dun gave a jump and yell 
Which nearly upset the peanut shell, 

For over the waves sailed a wondrous boat, 

The largest sure, that was ever afloat, 

And cold grew the heart of poor Hiddle-dee-dun; 
For the sailor was, oh, such a giant one! 

And down upon them he swiftly bore 
As though never a lance nor blade they wore. 
Then alas, for trophies still unwon, 

Alas, for valorous deeds undone! 

There came a wail like a funeral knell, 

Then the waves rolled over the peanut shell! 

And what was the end of this overthrow? 

Well, this is all that I really know, 

The Bumble-bee fashions his down himself, 

And Pedee has laid his wings on a shelf. 


□ □ □ 


“GIRLSTROUS” 

Our five year old, alive with play, 

Came wildly rushing in one day. 

“Don’t be so boisterous, dear,” I said, 
And gently touched the golden head. 

The look he gave defies my pen; 

“Must I,” he sighed, “be girlstrous then?” 


40 


AT BED-TIME 


O Sleepy-man, Sleepy-man, why do you stay 
In the Islands of Slumber, far, far away? 

O Sleepy-man, Sleepy-man, hasten along, 
With your tingle and jingle and lullaby song! 

Gome from your home far out on the sea 
And play a sweet tune to baby and me. 

Two little hands so weary with play, 

Two little feet that have wandered all day. 

Two laughing eyes that open will keep, 
Because their wee owner has no time to sleep. 

Sleepy-man, Sleepy-man, hasten along, 

With your tingle, and jingle and lullaby song. 

Play a sweet tune till the laughing eyes close 
And away to the Islands of Slumber he goes. 


□ □ □ 


A DISAPPOINTED COMPANY 

Old King Cole and his fiddlers three 
Sent cards to a goodly company, 

Assembled they were a comical crowd, 

As they curtsied and scraped and simpered and bowed. 


41 



There was father the nobleman, 
mother the queen, 

And baby whose rock-a-bye 
cradle was green, 

Small Johnnie came also to 
drum for the king, 

And sweet baby Betty, still 
wearing her ring. 

And if you’ll believe me, the 
man from the south 

Was there with a pitiful twist to 
his mouth; 

And to all that he met he said 
with a sigh, 

“Not cold, but hot porridge this 
time I will try.” 

The man in the moon, I heard 
the guests say, 

Would be in by and by, ere the 
close of the day, 

For once on a time he descended 
too soon, 

And not twice can you cheat the 
man in the moon. 

The butcher was there and his 
comrade the baker, 

While, looking quite glum was 
the candle stick maker, 


42 




“For,” said he, “folks now, with 
their new-fangled ways, 

Are quite scornful indeed of a 
candle’s mild blaze.” 

“A n d scarcely a candlestick 
now can be sold, 

While to learn a new trade I am 
surely too old.” 

I advised him at once hot pota¬ 
toes to grow 

Like the one he jumped out of, 
so long, long ago. 

But he shook his bald head with 
a sad look indeed, 

As he said, “Yes I would, but 
the rats ate the seed.” 

“O were they, do tell,” I said, “if 
you please, 

The same ones that ate the poor 
bachelor’s cheese?” 

“The same,” he replied, “but be 
not afraid, 

For puss caught them all ere to 
London she strayed.” 

Then up came on crutches the 
bachelor’s wife, 

“I’ve escaped from my fall,” 
said she, “with my life.” 



43 


$ 





Then poor Humpty Dumpty 
came limping along, 

“ ’Twas I had a fall,” said he, 
“you are wrong.” 

Soon I spied the Old Woman 
who lives in a shoe 

In deep conversation with Little 
Boy Blue. 

“Oh, how did you wake?” I 
asked in surprise, 

“Miss Muffet awoke me,” he 
said, “with her cries.” 

Then Little Bo Peep came up 
with her crook 

And said to the throng with a 
very wise look: 

“I hear my sheep cry far away 
in the west, 

I must leave this gay scene to go 
in their quest.” 

Said Daffy-Down Dilly, “Your 
search would be vain, 

That is only the boy who cries 
in the lane.” 

The man in Brown next came 
strolling my way, 

“O tell me,” said I, “without 
further delay, 


44 



" What became of the pig that 
flew in the air, 

Is he dead? If alive, O pray tell 
me where?” 

“He’s cooked for the dinner,” 
said he with a leer, 

Then the summons to dine 
struck loud on my ear, 

“Ding, dong, ding dong,” good 
old London bells, 

Of feasting now the merry peal¬ 
ing tells. 

But when at the table was 
seated each one, 

Lo, the pig had been stolen by 
the Piper’s bad son. 

So the pudding was cut, but with 
rage were they dumb 

For from it Jack Horner had 
picked every plum. 

The oranges, pies, cakes, coffee 
and tea 

“The wise men of Gotham” had 
carried off to sea. 

Then dejectedly dined this 
party bereft 

On the cold curds and whey 
Miss Muffet had left. 



45 


Then they scolded and cried till the sun was quite set, 
And indeed I am certain they’d been crying there yet, 
But the great King of Hearts with his cudgel came in 
And drove them all home with a terrible din. 


□ □ □ 


THE NONSENSE WHEEL 

Turn the wheel, turn the wheel, clickety clack, 

While the wind’s blowing no fun can we lack. 

Turn the wheel, turn the wheel, see what will come, 
Shovel, or poker, or trumpet or drum, 

Turn the wheel, turn the wheel and see what we’ll get, 
Laughter and prattle, or scolding and fret. 

Turn the wheel, turn the wheel, turn it just right, 
Calm, or confusion, or sweet dreams tonight. 

Turn the wheel, turn the wheel round and around, 
Heltery, skeltery, out on the ground. 

Turn the wheel, turn the wheel, no and O no, 

How can we grind when the wind will not blow? 
Naught has been found which can rule the wind’s will, 
Making it blow when it wants to be still. 


46 


A RIVER OF TEARS 


A fairy once made, 

For a boy in a glade, 

A house out of raisins and pie, 

But the boy disobeyed 
The rule that she made, 

And ate it all up with a sigh. 

This same generous fay, 

For a maiden, one day, 

Built a house out of diamonds and gold, 

But thieves took it all 
Away at one haul, 

And left the poor maid in the cold. 

Then the boy and the maid 
Sat down in the shade, 

And cried with so hearty a will, 

That they floated for years 
On a river of tears, 

And I’ve heard they are floating there still. 


47 









ALL ABOARD FOR SHUT-EYE-TOWN 


Ho! ho! there,—all aboard for “Shut-Eye-Town!” 
The brakes are all up, the signals pulled down; 
How silvery and soft the conductor’s last note, 

As over the ear the sweet syllables float: 

Bye-lo, bye-lo to “Shut-Eye-Town.” 


Oh! a wonderful city is “Shut-Eye-Town!” 

Then haste in your dainty white traveling gown; 

No baskets of luncheon or wraps will you need, 

For this train’s going through with lightning-like speed. 
Bye-lo, bye-lo to “Shut-Eye-Town.” 


Fairies and Brownies are waiting us there, 
Jewels and rainbows, and blossoms so rare, 

Soft summer breezes, and bright singing-birds, 
Friends with caresses and sweet, loving words; 
Bye-lo, bye-lo to “Shut-Eye-Town.” 


Oh! never was city so sunny as this; 

Be quick, or its pleasures you surely will miss, 
And never, I know, was conductor so fair 
As the one who is waiting to usher us there. 
Bye-lo, bye-lo to “Shut-Eye-Town.” 


48 



All aboard for "Shut-Eye-Town' 




















































































































































THE BOY WHO CANNOT CRY 


A little boy cried with all his might— 

A pitiful sight was he, 

For down his fat cheeks the bright tears ran 
Like rivers broad and free. 

“We’ll carry him off, that’s what we’ll do,” 

Said the tears, in wicked glee; 

“We come so fast, we soon will make 
A wide and briny sea!” 

So away went the boy that sunny morn, 

While hard and harder he cried; 

Frightened was he, but with every tear 
Grew the sea more deep and wide; 

His mother came out and the neighbors ran 
And stood upon the shore; 

But this silly boy still harder cried, 

And the salt sea widened more. 

Then the people screamed, “Stop, stop at once, 
And the sea will disappear;” 

But his own boo-hoos were the only sounds 
That fell upon his ear. 

so 




So he floated off, and the waves ran high, 

And his mother said, “I know 
He will never cease, and that dreadful sea 
All the while will wider grow!” 

Then the days went on, and the mother mourned 
For her great cry-baby boy, 

Until into the room he walked one morn, 

His features alight with joy. 

“But how came you here?” his mother asked, 

As she kissed him o’er and o’er, 

“And where are your tears?” He laughed and said, 
“Why, I haven’t any more! 

“I cried and cried till they all gave out, 

And the best that I could do, 

I couldn’t bring one, so the sea dried up, 

And I hurried home to you.” 

And now, whatever may happen to him, 

Not a whimper you will hear; 

He only laughs, for how can he cry, 

When he hasn’t a single tear? 



51 



THE FROWN’S COMPANION 


Said the Frown to the Smile, “Gome, walk with me to¬ 
day.” 

“Very well,” said the Smile, “since you’re going my 
way.” 

They journeyed on slowly for perhaps half a mile, 

And each person they met said, “Good morning, dear 
Smile.” 

Till at last cried the Frown, “Now this never will do; 
There’s no greeting for me, though I’m bigger than you.” 
“That’s true,” was the answer, “but remember the while, 
Even you as companion, selected the smile.” 



SELLING THE BABY 

We are going to sell the baby today— 
Shall I tell you the reason why? 

When I held him so kindly and carefully, 
He would just do nothing but cry. 


52 









mu 

■Hi 


Ni^WilNlpl 

hftyV-'Wivwfc'yj^vte 


|»EfI 

l#M« 

n«M 

Msmmmmi 


llilii&ig 


Well, see how he’s laughing, the dear! 



























































So I said to mother, “This baby boy 
Isn’t good for a single thing!” 

And she said just as honest, “We’ll sell him, then, 
And buy you a new gold ring.” 

So today he’s going, and I am to wear 
A fine gold ring on my hand; 

Yes, he is pretty, and mother declares 
He’s the sweetest pet in the land. 

I think I will buy a gold ring like yours, 

If baby will bring me enough— 

There! he is waking, you can see his blue eyes; 

Be careful, don’t handle him rough. 

You’d like to buy him? You’ll give me your ring? 
Well, see how he’s laughing, the dear! 

His hands are so soft, so chubby and white— 

At their touch my throat feels so queer. 

His breath is so sweet, “The ring,” I forgot— 

Why yes, I suppose that will do; 

“You’ll take him right off?” Let me kiss him first 
then,— 

Oh, baby, your eyes are so blue! 

And your cheek is so warm. Here, give him to me, 
Whatever your ring may be w'orth, 

l wouldn’t give even his low cooing laugh 
For all the fine rings on the earth. 


54 


WHY TOMMY WENT 
BAREFOOT 

Great grandmother says the 
funniest things, 

Today I begged to go 

Without my shoes, and when at 
once 

My mother answered, “No,” 

Great grandmother said, “Tom, 
when you see 

Together, flying low 

Three swallows, you may know 
’tis time 

For boys to barefoot go.” 

So all day long I’ve sat and 
watched 

The blue and fleecy sky, 

But every swallow that I’ve 
seen, 

Alone went sailing by. 

If they could know, the stub¬ 
born things, 

How soft the young grass 
feels, 

How warm the brown and 
crumbling earth 

’Neath naked toes and heels 



55 




I’m sure they’d come in many threes 
To set my poor feet free, 

Ho, there, just over that big oak, 

Yes, yes, ’tis one, two, three! 

Now all this rigging for my feet 
Safe in the closet goes, 

Take cold? How can I when it’s time? 
I’m sure great grandmother knows. 


□ □ □ 


LITTLE KITTIE WHINER 

Tell me, have you sefen her passing by this way? 

She was crying, crying all the livelong day, 

And the noise grew tiresome, so the neighbors all 
Drove her off a-flying far from sight or call; 

But her anxious mother walked so many miles 
Searching for her Kittie, hoping for her smiles. 

Little Kittie Whiner, far were heard her cries; 

When her mother found her, tears were in her eyes 
So she ran and left her in the dark, alone, 

With the night wind chanting in a dreary tone. 

Still she wildly wanders up and down the land, 
Sometimes finding shelter from a pitying hand. 

Pouts and tears she scatters as she wanders wide; 
Should you chance to meet her hasten from her side. 
Frowns she has so many, smiles she has so few, 

Tell me, little maiden, has she been with you? 


56 


THE SUMMER ROLL CALL 


The sun shone hot on hall and 
cot. 

And in the poultry yard, 

The fowls stood still, while 
every bill 

Made clamor loud and high. 
The hen that laid ran to the 
shade 

And cackled long and loud, 
The rooster said, “ You’ll lose 
your head, 

You’re growing far too 
proud.” 

The duck came back with many 
a quack 

From swimming in the creek, 
She said she knew a thing or two 

If they would let her speak. 
The gobbler then took book and 
pen, 

And said he’d call the roll. 
The bantam took the pen and 
book 

And dropped them in a hole. 

Then cried they all, both large 
and small, 

“How very impolite.” 


57 




The bantam flew with much ado, 
Far, far beyond their sight. 

And did they call the roll at all? 

Well, that I couldn’t say, 

Because just then the clock struck ten 
And so I came away. 



THE SUN-DIAL 

An ancient sun-dial 
Said, “Give me a trial, 

With that ugly obstreperous clock, 
For it often, you know, 

Is too fast or too slow, 

While steady am I as a rock.” 


58 




SOME EXPLANATIONS 

“Hey diddle, diddle, 

The cat and the fiddle.” 

What do you think the “hey diddle, diddle” 

Has said of those two, “the cat and the fiddle?” 

(The story I heard 
From a gay little bird,) 

So pert and so proud are “the cat and the fiddle,” 
That some day they’ll lose their “hey diddle, diddle.” 



“The cow jumped over the moon,” 

If she hadn’t been a “crumpled horn” 

She never could have done it, 

How do I know? “The man in the moon” 
Gave me his word upon it! 


59 



If her horns had been straight, 

Or if she’d had no horns at all, 

Either early or late 
There had been a great fall. 

“The little dog laughed to see the sport.” 

And the “Sport” was vexed at the dog’s wild glee, 
And set up a howling wail, 

The dog since that day, 

So the chronicles say, 

Has been forced to laugh with his tail. 


60 



“And the dish ran away with the spoon.” 
But how could the baby eat its food, 

Or how could we tell if the pudding is good, 
Or know if the gravy salt doth lack, 

Or how take medicine, bitter or sweet, 

Or the soup so hot and savory eat, 

If that spoon had never run back? 



61 



THE GIGGLING STRING 


A little boy giggled the livelong day, 

Wasting and idling the moments away, 

Be he wore out, at last, his giggling string, 

And now he can’t laugh at a single thing. 

He might better have saved, I think, don’t you, 
Of all those giggles just one or two? 

So, remember, a laugh’s a delightful thing, 

And don’t you wear out your giggling string. 



There is going to be a most wonderful ball. 

Gome creatures of wings, be ye mighty or small, 

Where the sun is still shining so warm on the hill, 
’Neath the poplars that flaunt their green dresses still. 

But yonder their brothers, the sad stately oaks, 

All closely stand wrapped in their dark autumn cloaks. 
Then, come, hasten all to the hill-top away; 

’Tis the last, yes, the last—we’ll be gay while we may. 


62 


Last night the wind’s warning came wild and so drear: 
“Beware of the frost-king! again he draws near.” 

Yes, friends of our frolics through long, sunny hours, 
Have shrunk ’neath his breath, and lie low with the 
flowers. 

But a merry tryst still will we favored ones keep, 
Then shelter ourselves for the long winter’s sleep. 

Once more, then O comrades, Mr. Cricket will play 
His very best tunes for us revelers gay. 

No murmurers now or repiners may come; 

Those only are welcome who merrily hum. 

For waiting is Spring down the frost whitened way; 
Soon with whistle and lilt will he rouse us to play. 

This then, is our closing. Though soft breezes blow, 
’Tis but their beguiling ere falleth the snow. 

Once more we’ll trip lightly, though summer is past; 
Then haste to the revel, the gayest and last! 


□ □ □ 


FIREWORKS 

A saucy little firecracker sat on a stone 
And gazed with a comical face 
Where a sky-rocket stick in the bushes hard by 
Lay mutely accepting disgrace. 

Said the cracker, “O my! 

Why lie here and die? 


63 


Because you can’t soar again to the sky? 

Gome on! 

There must be some fun 

Though the Fourth of July is all done. 

Then the sky-rocket stick arose from his place, 
Assisting the cracker with dexterous grace 
To the soft, dewy grass. 

And odd looking pair, 

But naught did they care 
For over the world they now meant to pass. 

“On our journey mayhap, other friends we may find” 
Said the cracker, who ever to comrades inclined. 

But the sky-rocket stick was a churlish young elf 
Who felt content to be friends with himself. 

Yet he made no reply, 

For the firecracker’s eye 

Had a look which betokened her temper might fly. 

So they journeyed along 
And nothing went wrong 
Till they came to a brook which gurgled and sang, 

While the woods all around with melody rang. 

And there a torpedo lay, cozy and dry 
And seemed to be placidly watching the sky. 

“Aha,” said the cracker, “well met, my good friend, 
If to cross this wide river your aid you will lend, 

Then afar on our journey with us you may go, 

And many a wonder to you we will show.” 


64 



But the sky-rocket stick in his bosom declared 
“He shall not go with us, joys are duller when shared. 
Down in the deep sand I will push him so low 
That no one can ever his hiding place know.” 

Then his foot he brought down on the torpedo’s head, 
Snap-fizzle, bang, whang! the stick lay as if dead. 

He revived in a trice, more’s the pity, I say 
And stood up again the scene to survey. 

Of the hated torpedo no traces, not one 
And the firecracker lay quite dead in the sun. 


65 


“Now I can’t see the world,” said he, I am sure 
Unless my good luck a guide should procure. 

I must wait here alone through the long summer day, 
For how can I go where I don’t know the way? 

So he threw himself down in the sand in a fret 
And I think, if you’ll look, you’ll find him there yet. 


/ 



THE PLASTER 


There once was a boy they called Caster, 
Whose questions flowed and faster and faster, 
He worried his mother 
And teased his big brother 
So they sealed up his mouth with a plaster. 


66 




THE RUNAWAY 


A dreadful thing happened here, yesterday; 
The “cock horse” broke from his stable away, 
Nor did he run to “Charing Cross,” 

But went till he met with a serious loss. 

His legs dropped off and his rockers too, 

And now there is a most shocking ado, 

For the “white horse,” the lady and all the rest 
We cannot see, though we try our best. 

And Oh, the tears that are shed today 
To Charing Cross to ride away; 

And all this trouble comes, of course, 

From the mad career of that hobby horse. 



67 





WHAT IS SWEETER? 



O, moon as you wander away 
through the skies, 

What do you see with your deep, 
wide eyes? 

Do you shine on a fairer sight 
than this? 

Two red, dewy lips awaiting a 
kiss; 

A cheek soft and red, a brow 
smooth and fair, 

Smiles and sly dimples and 
bright flowing hair? 

O, moon, have you found, as you 
ceaselessly whirl, 

Anything sweeter than a sweet 
little girl? 


□ □ 


GOSSIP 

The cat that came, 

Was just the same, 

As one they had before; 

The dog that sat 
On his master’s hat, 

Stole off and was seen no more. 

68 





The crow that cawed, 

Ere ice was thawed, 

Flew far where corn is green. 
The great old frog, 

Beside the bog, 

Will never more be seen. 

The bird whose tune, 

Was sung too soon, 

Will sing no more they say, 

The cow so red, 

They thought quite dead, 

Got up and walked away. 

The rabbit hopped, 

And then he stopped, 

While everybody cried. 

The old black hen, 

Broke from her pen, 

And cackled till she died. 

“Nonsense!” you say, 

Ah, well-a-day, 

’Tis gossip I heard fall 
Upon the breeze, 

’Neath apple trees; 

The sparrow told it all. 


69 









THE QUEEN OF TOLOO 

O, the Queen of Toloo 
Made a great ado, 

They ran to see what was the matter; 
Her cup was upset, 

No milk could she get, 

And that was the cause of the clatter. 

There were looks of dismay, 

But her maiden so gay 
Flew down to the kitchen instanter 
And brought up some more 
Which she quickly did pour 
From the mouth of the silver decanter. 

But the Queen of Toloo 
Cried “That will not do, 

I tell you I want back the other!” 

Now what could they do 
With this Queen of Toloo? 

They sent her right in to her mother. 



70 








AN ORDER FOR REMOVAL* 

(To the Lord High Chancellor of the Rats in Our House.) 

We’ve decided, good sir, that you and your clan 
Have lived here so long on the “free for all” plan 
That now ’twould be best both for us and for you 
If you’d seek a new home without further ado. 

We don’t like to threaten, but we’ve heard quite enough 
Of your rattlety-bang, your scamper and scuff, 

You have dined in our pantry and climbed up our stairs, 
You have weighted our burdens and doubled our cares. 

In the silence of midnight through our slumbers you’ve 
come 

Like the charge of an army at roll of the drum, 

And now, most politely we ask it, we’re sure, 

Other quarters at once we hope you’ll secure. 

But ere you depart we’ll tell this for your good, 

(For rats, like us mortals, can’t live without food,) 
Right over the way, in that mansion so fine, 

A good place you’ll find your ratships to dine. 

There are stores in the pantry, while sly cats there are 
none, 

To disturb your arrangements for plunder and fun, 

So success to you there, but no more must there be 
Either rat-tail or whisker beneath this roof-tree. 

*There is an old and amusing superstition that when a house is infested by 
rats they may be driven away by writing them a threatening letter, and at 
the same time indicating a place of harbor for them. The superstition 
affirms that the place indicated will at once be overrun with rats. 


71 


NO ADMITTANCE 


The wind and the snow in vain 
Beat against my window pane. 

The snow with gentle taps, 

The wind with angry flaps. 

“Let me in,” begged the snow in whispers low, 

“Such wonderful, wonderful things I know. 

I can tell you where hide the buttercups, 

And what has become of the ‘Johnnie-Jump-ups.’ 

I know where lurks the dragon-fly bright, 

And where the fire-fly has hidden his light. 

These secrets I’ll tell you and many more, 

Then open, open the window and door.” 

“Let me in!” cried the wind in its wildest way, 

“Such curious stories I’ll tell you today. 

Would you know the shape of the meadow-lark’s wings, 
Or the way of his throat when he softly sings? 

Would you learn the very grottoes and dells 

Where the King of the winds with his retinue dwells? 

And what makes the sky so softly blue, 

And the way the clouds walk over it too? 

Would you know of the chariot the storm-cloud rides, 
And how the lightning its path divides? 

These wonderful stories at once I’ll begin, 

If you only will open and let me in.” 


72 



The wind and the snow in vain beat against my window pane , 















































Oh, rare are the secrets they offer to me 
And deep are the myst’ries unfolded would be. 

But cold, bitter cold, would these visitors bring 
If window and portal I open should fling. 

So each crevice I close ’gainst the wind and the snow 
And these wonderful secrets I never may know. 



A SAD PLIGHT 

“I believe a book I will write,” 

Said young Mr. Marmaduke Knight; 

“I’ll win to myself a great name. 

For there’s nothing so pleasing as fame.” 
So he sat himself down to begin, 

But alack! what a plight he was in! 

Though he pondered and puzzled all day 
He found he had nothing to say. 


74 







THE SPIDERS THAT DANCED 


One little spider without a thing to do; 

Another came to gossip, then there were two. 

Two little spiders with their tongues quite free, 

One came to quiet them, then there were three. 

Three little spiders talking matters o’er; 

One came to beg some web, then there were four. 

Four little spiders with mischief all alive; 

One came to bring a fly, then there were five. 

Five little spiders cutting up such tricks, 

One stopped to “see about it,” then there were six. 

Six little spiders of the town of Devon; 

Another came from Brunswick, then there were seven. 
Seven little spiders talking there so late; 

Another came to scold them, then there were eight. 
Eight little spiders sitting in a line; 

Another came to count them, then there were nine. 
Nine little spiders wished to dance like men; 

Another came to teach them, then there were ten. 

Ten little spiders dancing such a jig 

The fairies came to wonder at the funny rig. 

Then these little spiders, black and brown and gray 
Went dancing and dancing the summer night away. 
They danced and they danced till the morning came 
again; 

“For there’s no place to stop,” said these little spiders 
ten, 

So they danced and they danced and a merry time had 
they— 

It may be they’re dancing on that very spot today. 


75 


PERPLEXED 


I cannot understand at all 
The way grandmother goes on, 

When I climb trees, or chase the dog, 

And have the greatest fun, 

She’ll sternly say, “Now Arabella, don’t you know 
A great big girl like you should not act so?” 

But when I want some jewelry, 

A bracelet or some pretty rings, 

Or maybe nothing but a hat, 

With flowers and bows and things, 

Or, sometimes just because I want my hair in curl, 
She’ll say, “That is not nice for such a little girl.” 



76 





SHUTTING OUT THE 
“TEAR-MAN” 

Run, run; the “Tear-man’s” 
coming, 

O, the storm he’ll bring! 

Tears, frowns, and words as 
cruel 

As a nettle’s sting. 

Neither peace nor comfort ours 

When he gains the room; 

How we dread his scalding 
showers, 

And his clouds of gloom. 

Run and bar the door, now 
safely, 

Quick, for he is near, 

When he knocks, then answer 
loudly, 

“No admittance here.” 

For his wrinkled face we never 

Wish to see about. 

No, no, you ugly “Tear-man,” 

We have shut you out. 



77 
























THE DINNER TREE 



A Rhodomontade started out 
one day, 

And carried his sister’s gun, 

But the dates weren’t ripe, so he 
couldn’t tell 

When the shooting should be 
done. 

But a Scarabuskay soon came 
that way, 

A-singing so clear and high, 

“If rats don’t mew, and cats 
don’t squeak, 

Pray tell me the reason 
why?” 

Said the Rhodomontade, “O 
come with me, 

I will show you where they 
dwell, 

And dogs that sing, and birds 
that bark, 

And horses that quack as 
well.” 

Said the Scarabuskay, “You are 
very kind, 

But I have not dined, you 
see,” 


78 











“Then come,” said the other, “we’ll find instead 
A bountiful dinner tree.” 

So searching they went, now here and now there, 
Till their eyes were weak and red; 

Said the Rhodomontade at last, “I fear 
All the dinner trees are fled.” 

Said the Scarabuskay, “What shall we do? 

Pray tell me, if you know,” 

Said the Rhodomontade, “I very much fear 
We must wait for one to grow.” 

But a Polyglot came from the woods just then 
And he said, “Oh, come with me.” 

So away they went, and I trust they have found 
That bountiful dinner tree. 


□ □ □ 


A BLOODLESS BATTLE 

Grandmother sat at her knitting work, 

Mother rocking at ease, 

When into the room a sly mouse came 
Searching for bread and cheese. 

“Oh!” screamed grandmother, in trembling tones, 
Louder was mother’s cry. 

And quickly mounting upon a chair, 

She shrieked, “That mouse must die!” 


79 


In rushed father in great affright, 

“Is someone hurt or sick?” 

Grandmother pointed, while mother cried, 

“Do kill that creature, quick!” 

Armed with the tongs the chase began, 

While mother through half open door 

Watched from the sheltering dining room 
This mimicry of war. 

A friendly board the broad crack filled 
A stand held mother well, 

While round and round poor mousie ran, 
Dodging each blow that fell. 

Suddenly up the screening board 
On mother’s face and hair 

Ran mousie rash, there came a shriek, 

And a crash that rent the air. 

The stand was down, and where had been 
Some plants in beauteous pride, 

Lay broken crocks, earth, leaves and bloom, 
And mother by their side. 

Then father ran, with anxious strides, 

To open wide the door, 

While grandmother searched for camphor flask 
Poor mother to restore. 


80 


Wee mousie from her hidden nook 
Looked out the wreck to see, 

And wondered much at such a time 
O’er thing so small as she. 

Just think of it, one fainting fit, 

Dirt all over the house, 

Some ruined plants and broken jars, 
For one poor little mouse. 



THE FOURTH AND THE FIFTH 

On the morning of the Fourth 
Reigns supreme the boy; 
Crackers, crackers, fire and smoke, 
Endless, noisy joy. 


81 




Jingling in his pockets wait 
Nickels, cents and dimes 
That seem clinking tales to him 
Of such jolly times. 

Flags aloft, the world astir, 
Trumpets add their blare, 
School is out, the fun is on, 

Life is something rare. 

Fast the jingling coins escape 
From his fingers black, 

Oh, this joy that manhood’s 
prime 

Never can bring back. 

Fireworks with the shadows 
come, 

Rockets all ablaze, 

Candles, wheels and shooting 
stars, 

That enchant his gaze. 

Crowds of people, laughter, 
shouts, 

Frolics everywhere, 

Till he thinks the fun must stay 
Ever in the air. 

Tell him not the “Fifth will find 
Him in sorry plight;” 

He will only laugh and plunge 
Deeper in delight. 


82 





And as fast the years slip on, 
Will he, looking back, 

See the Fifth and all the pangs 
Hanging on its track? 

No, the short and merry 
“Fourth” 

He alone will see, 

While the long and painful 
“Fifth” 

Will forgotten be. 


□ □ 


CIRCUS 

It’s an awful puzzle for me to 
tell 

Just what I am and what I’m 
not, 

Am I a great big boy, almost a 
man? 

Or nothing but a little tot? 

If work they want they say, 
“Come, you’re so big,” 

And very coaxing is their 
tone, 

But if I mention “circus,” then 
they cry, 

“You’re quite too small to go 
alone.” 





83 



FARMER BROJVN AND JUSTICE 

An Old Story in a New Dress 

Good farmer Brown, in years 
long past 

His lot beside a stream had cast. 
And much good cash had he laid 
down 

By selling chickens in the town; 
Prime, plump and tender were 
they all, 

And brought him prices never 
small. 

But sad to tell, there sometimes 
came 

Wild floods that well deserved 
the name; 

They carried off full many a 
coop, 

And thus curtailed his chicken 
soup. 

For many years he bore this 
well, 

Until at last worse luck befell. 
So wild and high the waters ran 
He found himself a chickless 
man. 

Angry at this was Brown in¬ 
deed, 

And sought a lawyer with all 
speed. 


84 


“I want to sue the state,” said 
he. 

Then danced the lawyer’s eyes 
with glee, 

And writing down the farmer’s 
name, 

He said, “Well sir, let’s hear 
your claim.” 

With burning cheeks the farmer 
told 

His losses from the waters cold. 

Concluding with an angry brow, 

“Justice is what I’m after now.” 

“Justice!” the lawyer said in 
scorn, 

“She died my friend, ere you 
were born. 

You say the water took your 
chicks; 

Well, rivers often play those 
tricks.” 

“But come,” continued farmer 
Brown, 

While deeper grew his wrath¬ 
ful frown, 

“You must, I say, a way provide 

That I may be indemnified; 

Somebody now, I’m bound to 
sue, 

To get again what is my due.” 

85 





The lawyer smiled, and said, “Oh, well, 

Put up a fifty and I’ll tell 

How you this trouble may elude 

And circumvent these waters rude.” 

The good man paid the fifty down, 

For fair and square was farmer Brown. 
Then said the lawyer, with a smile, 

“My rule beats justice by a mile,” 

And with a wink that rivalled Puck’s, 

He softly said, "My friend, raise ducks” 

□ □ □ 

THE SMALL LIGHT 

A tiny, brown fire-fly, with light ’neath its wings, 
Set out in the darkness to brighten up things. 

Said a wise owl that flew from top of a tree, 

“How can a thing small as you help others to see?” 
“Hoo, hoo,” laughed the owl, and lit ’neath the tree, 
“You have lots of conceit, you foolish bug-ee.” 

Then a wee mousie gray came running quite near, 
“Hoo, hoo,” cried the owl, “my supper is here.” 
But the fire-fly’s small light so quickly flashed up, 
’Twas enough, and the owl on mouse did not sup. 

Said the fire-fly, “You see,” as off the owl flew, 
“Though small is my light, ’tis enough to beat you,” 
If you can’t be a sun with worlds in your train, 
Keep twinkling right on, ’twill not be in vain. 


86 


WITH MARY ANN 


Back in the kitchen it’s such fun 

With Mary Ann to stay; 

I’d rather see her wash the 
clothes, 

Than go outdoors to play. 

She makes the suds all frothy 
white, 

Then hands the soap to me; 

I play it is a little boat 

Upon a great, wide sea. 

I make the waves roll high and 
fast, 

They go ’way up and down; 

It seems just like a great big 
storm, 

When all the folks must 
drown. 

The sailors and the captain are, 

Some tooth-picks stuck in 
tight, 

The passengers are smooth 
round beans— 

They’re scared, that’s why 
they’re white. 


87 





















































Then mother comes and spoils it all 
By saying, “Little son, 

There’s father coming in the gate, 
Go meet him, honey, run!” 

And so I have to go, but say! 

When I’m a big tall man, 

Right in the kitchen I will stay 
All day with Mary Ann. 


□ □ □ 


WHERE IT LISTETH 

Blow wind, lightly blow, 

And kiss the scented clover; 

Blow wind, wildly blow, 

And turn the green leaves over. 

Blow wind, swiftly blow, 

And set the wild birds swinging, 

Blow wind, blow, blow, blow, 

And scorn their swiftest winging. 

Rest, wind, lightly rest, 

The night to day is calling; 

Rest, rest, on Earth’s breast, 

Sweet silence now is falling. 

Rest, wind, lightly rest, 

All living things are sleeping; 

Rest wind, rest is best, 

While stars are vigils keeping. 


NEGLECT 


Two maids wept side by side, 
One o’er a flower dead, 

One o’er a friendship fled, 
Forgetting as they wept 
A little care had kept 
The flower in its stately pride, 
A little love held fast 
The friendship to the last. 


□ □ □ 


A BAD SPELL 

Said Lucy, “Now meet me at eight; 

Don’t forget and make us both leight.” 

Said Kaight, “Yes, I’ll come sure as feight.” 

Said Lucy, “ ’Tis quite cold enough, 

I think, to be using my mough, 

The wind blows so cold on the blough.” 

But soon did this poor maiden sigh, 

She caught a bad cold in her igh, 

And she thought she surely must digh. 

Now you who have laughed at my rhyme, 
And think my poor spelling a chryme, 

Just learn how to spell while you’ve thyme. 


89 


A POSSIBLE TRAGEDY 


The story goes, a little boy 

Whose name, for short, was Sam, 
At breakfast, dinner, supper time, 
Would always cry for jam. 

Since nothing else the lad would eat, 
He grew so small, each day, 

They put him in a jam-pot big, 

And there they let him stay. 

I have not heard what next befell 
This foolish boy called Sam, 

But this my own opinion is 
He just turned to jam. 

Don’t be one-sided, this you’ll see, 

The lesson of my verse, 

For though you may not turn to jam, 
You may be something worse. 


□ □ El 


WHAT FOR? 

Now don’t you ever dare to say, 
Upon this great Thanksgiving day, 
“There is nothing I can see 
For which I can thankful be.” 

’Cause there’s always this to say, 
“I’m thankful for Thanksgiving day.” 


90 





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SAVED BY APRIL FOOL 


Francis, Duke of Lorraine is an historical character. He was born in 
1708, succeeded his father Leopold, in 1729, and died in 1765. 

In Chamber’s “Book of Days,” page 462, is found the legend embodied 
in the following verses. Since the French adopted the custom of April 
fooling” long before the English did, it will be seen that had the duke and 
his wife been confined in an English town, instead of the French one, 
Nantes, they might not so easily have escaped. This legend is also told m 
various books of old customs and curiosities. 

Have you heard the little story, 

Running like a thread of gold 
Through the warp and woof of legend— 
Legends often grimly told? 

Francis, Lorraine’s duke and master, 

With his noble, stately wife, 

In the town of Nantes were captives; 

Hard and sad their prison life. 

But some friend with tender feeling 
Peasant’s garb for each prepared; 

Thus arrayed, and bearing burdens, 

Forth for home they boldly fared. 

At the city gates, the sentry 

Heeded not the peasant pair,— 

He with hod upon his shoulder, 

She with baskets as her share. 

To the fair and open country 

On they trudged with humble mien, 

Till they met a sharp-eyed woman 
Who their faces once had seen. 


92 



To the sentry with her tidings 
On she sped as if for life, 

Saying, “I have met Duke Francis, 
With his proud and haughty wife!” 

“Stuff and nonsense!” said the sentry, 
“They could not have passed me by, 
’Tis, I know, the first of April,” 

And he slyly winked his eye. 


93 





But the woman, nothing daunted, 

Told the story far and wide, 

“That is good for April ‘fooling’,” 
Each one with a laugh replied. 

By and by the governor heard it, 
(Though the news came rather late), 
“It may be,” he said, “all fooling, 

But I’ll just investigate.” 

So he did, but then the couple 
Were beyond his reach and rule, 

And for once a useful purpose 
Had been served by “April Fool!” 


□ □ □ 


A HUNGRY BOY 

I know a funny little boy 
Who ate a Teddy bear, 

The whole of it, and did not give 
To any one a share. 

You think, perhaps, this made him sick? 

So that he staid in bed? 

O, no, because this Teddy bear 
Was made of gingerbread. 


94 


PACKED ASTRONOMY 


Round and round the Sun they 
go, 

Planets all whose names we 
know, 

Mercury, so near the Sun, 

Short the journey he must run. 
Venus next, the evening star, 
Travels more than twice as far. 

“Family of the Sun,” you know, 
Round and round him they 
must go. 

Then the Earth, we love so well, 
Favored planet where we dwell, 
Mars comes next, all bright and 
red, 

“God of war,” the old Greeks 
said. 

Rain may fall and winds may 
blow, 

Round and round the Sun they 
go. 

Asteroids, no eye may scan 
Next fill up the wondrous plan. 
Jupiter, the giant ball, 

Big enough to hold them all. 






Not too fast and not too slow, 
Round and round the Sun they go. 
Saturn next with rings of light, 
Telescope shows wondrous sight, 
Shining far in midnight sky, 

How he cheers the mortal eye. 

Uranus, a mighty ball, 

Neptune, farthest of them all, 
Round the Sun each fleeting hour, 
Held by mighty, sleepless power, 
“Solar system,” now you know, 
Round and round the Sun they go. 


□ □ □ 


THE UNIVERSAL ZOO 

As round the working world you go, 
There will appear to you, 

Most unexpectedly indeed, 

The members of this zoo. 

The woodsman and the carpenter, 
“A horse” cannot refuse. 

While all mechanics everywhere 
“A kit” of tools must use. 


96 


When heavy loads are hoisted high 
They take a “crane” or “jack,” 

And sometimes just a common “crow” 
Will save a human back. 

“Mule Jennies” spin the cotton well, 

At least that’s what they say, 

While “donkey” engines turn machines 
Without a kick or bray. 

Or if you wish to quickly stop 
The water’s steady flow, 

You turn a “cock,” though not the kind 
That gives a morning crow. 

But if spring water you would pump 
You’ll find a “ram” no shirk, 

While everywhere in wood or iron, 

The “worms” do quiet work. 

And then, connecting end to end, 

A “fish” is often found, 

While in machines both large and small, 
“Fly”-wheels go circling round. 

When you have donned your thinking cap 
These names pray ponder o’er, 

Perhaps your clever wits will then 
Discover many more. 


97 


HIS RESOLVE 


There’s so much noise inside of me 
I don’t know what to do, 

Can’t yell in school and then at home 
I must be quiet too. 

I don’t see why, since we are made 
So full of yells and noise, 

Big folks with nerves don’t all go off 
Where they can’t hear us boys. 

But I forget, if they should go, 

What would we do for cake, 

And all the other goody stuff 
Big folks know how to make? 

And so I s’pose, I’ll have to try 
To shut the noise in tight, 

Till I get to the woods, and then 
I’ll yell with all my might. 


□ □ □ 


“NOT HIS FAULT ” 

Once on a time, I knew a boy, 
Who from his head to feet, 
Whenever he set off to school 
Looked O, so nice and neat. 


98 


“And did he look the same?” 
you ask, 

When he came home at 
night?” 

Alas! he was from head to foot 

In a most sorry plight! 

His mittens both had gone 
astray, 

His knickers had a tear, 

His shoes were coated thick 
with mud 

And tousled was his hair. 

All grimy were his hands and 
face, 

His cap was battered in, 

Around his neck was a streak of 
black 

Where collar should have 
been. 

’Twas not his fault, O, no in¬ 
deed, 

That much you must allow, 

The loss, the dirt and all the 
rest 

‘Just did themselves, that’s 
how.” 


99 












WELCOME TO MARCH 


The March winds are blowing, 

Old Winter is going, 

Soon birds will be singing, 

And flowers upspringing, 

For March with his promise is here. 
Dame Nature’s housecleaning, 

All dust and dirt gleaning, 

The earth she is sweeping, 

With winds in her keeping, 

For March with his trumpet is here. 
Stray snowflakes are flying, 

But winter is dying. 

Not a tear will be shed, 

Skies are blue overhead, 

For March with his sunshine is here. 


□ □ □ 


BLESS 'EM 

I doff my hat to the woman or man 
Who can stir the wholesome laugh. 

This life is so sad, and so rarely glad, 

With too many cares by half. 

On the solemn-browed do we turn our backs, 
Too many of them indeed; 

But there’s always place for the smiling face 
And the merry-making screed. 


100 



Yes, blessings on her, and blessings on him, 
Who for just a little while, 

Gan make us forget the care and the fret 
And give the audible smile. 

So the ones who can make us laugh, I think, 
Should be crowned with fadeless bay, 
And their names be sung in every tongue 
Until time shall fade away. 



101 


THE SAD CASE OF CLEMENTINE ISABEL 

Have you heard of Clementine Isabel Grange? 
Her ways and her works are remarkably strange— 
She can walk with a friend two miles, maybe three, 
And return from the trip as blithe as a bee; 

But if mother says, “dishes,” woe and alack! 

So sore are her feet and so weary her back! 

This Clementine Isabel, agile and fleet, 

Plays tennis all day, without thought of the heat, 
At a ball game she’ll stand, (now isn’t it queer?) 
For hours, no word of complaint you will hear; 
She can wheel with the best, play golf with a will, 
But a washboard, Oh dear! the sight brings a chill. 

The dumb-bells and clubs she can wield by the hour 
“Developing muscle” and giving her “power,” 

But if mother says “broom” now what do you think? 
The poor girl is so tired she’s ready to sink. 

Yes, she who can fence, and can bowl, row and run, 
Is frail as a feather when work’s to be done. 


□ □ □ 


THE NEED 

’Tis well, we know, to kindness show, 
And scatter loving smiles, 

But ah! good deeds this old world needs 
To lessen weary miles. 


102 


THE SEA 


’Tis calling, calling night and day, 

I hear it ’mid my work and play 
Where’er my wandering feet may stray 
I seem to feel its salty spray. 

The sea, the sea, 

So wild and free. 

Its lashings on the rocky shore, 

Its ceaseless and tempestuous roar 
Must haunt my ears forevermore, 

Until life’s changing scenes are o’er. 
The sea, the sea, 

Beguiling me. 

Or when it lies like mirror wide, 

And distantly the white sails glide, 
While gulls skim o’er its peaceful tide, 
Unceasing charms with it abide, 

The sea, the sea, 

Enticing me. 


□ □ □ 


A BUNCH OF LETTERS 

Once on a time I knew a lad 
Who liked to take his EE, 

And every chance he found for this, 
He did not fail to CC. 


103 


He said he could not read because 
So very weak his I I. 

He had indeed, an M T head 
So how could he B YY? 

Pray do not think that I XQQ 
This lazy little man, 

I hope that I may never UU 
His sad and worthless plan. 

When he is old and strength D KK 
He will advice S A, 

He’ll vex U oft with sermons YY 
And this is what he’ll say, 

“Unless XXX U try to B 
While U R young and well, 

A man in F E G U’ll make 
Who never can X L.” 

If he would mind his PP and QQ 
I’d gladly give a V. 

At his D GC they then might write 
On him an L E G. 

But now he will not take a Q 
From N E one, U G, 

’Twould W all up to know 
How stubborn he can B. 


104 


Now do not think that this X S 
Of good old A B GG 
Is meant a system new to teach, 
’Tis just your wits to TT. 


□ □ □ 


THE TRAP THE FOX MADE 

A True Story 

A fox that lived in a warm, snug house, 

And was carefully fed each day, 

Longed for some chickens so choice and fat, 

That always kept out of his way. 

A strong steel chain was about his neck, 

So not very far could he go, 

Wise little chicks all happily played, 

Did they trust Mr. Fox? O, no. 

Oh, foolish fox not to be content, 

With the food from his master’s hand, 

He wanted a chicken, plump and young, 

So this very bad trick he planned, 

He scraped up some sticks, some twigs and leaves, 
Before his door they made a mound, 

Crept into his house and left his food, 

To coax the poor chickies around. 

Soon the chickens came, no fox was seen, 

No, not a trace of him was there. 

“Peep, peep, peep, peep,” how happy they were, 
As fast they ate the dainty fare. 


105 


Suddenly came that sly fox running, 

With a leap so sly and so quick, 

His sharp, black eyes had been watching there — 
Now he held a poor little chick. 

The farmer’s wife heard the frightened “y ee P5” 
She came with a stick big and long, 

And the struggling chick was soon set free 
From the paws so cruel and strong. 

Then with a big, stiff broom did she sweep 
The ground all around and around 
Till not a twig, a leaf or a stick 
Near that bad, cruel fox were found. 

And so, after that, he had no chance 
His cruel, cunning tricks to show, 

For even the sharpest fox on earth 
Needs something to work with, you know. 

Now that is the way with plotters smart; 

There is always coming a time 
When they will be caught and brought to shame, 
And that is the point of my rhyme. 


□ □ □ 


EVERYWHERE 

In rural lanes she haunts me, 
Upon the city street, 

In motor car and steam boat, 
Yes, everywhere I meet 
The girl who chews gum. 


106 


Of course she is a darling, 

With cheeks quite like the rose, 
And lips that rival coral, 

Yet munching still she goes, 
This girl who chews gum. 

She goes to church a-chewing, 

To balls and funerals too, 

And if the house were burning 
She would not cease to chew, 
This girl who chews gum. 


□ El □ 


THE FIREFLIES 

Through the long and lonely night, when the earth is 
dark 

Joy and cheer the fireflies bring with each tiny spark. 

Clouds may hide the brightest star, and the moon’s 
clear glow, 

But the fireflies do not fail all their light to show. 

Twinkling, twinkling, here and there through the sum¬ 
mer night, 

Giving, giving everywhere, moments ot delight. 

Thus the little fireflies’ spark may this lesson teach 

To the humble things of earth God’s great blessings 
reach. 


107 





BUSY FAIRIES 


“What do fairies do?” you ask, 

Each one has her own small task. 

One the honey bee must show 
Where the sweetest blossoms grow. 

Then the sunbeams must be told 
Where pale flowers quake with cold. 
And where dusty blossoms wait, 
Another leads the dewdrops late. 

Sometimes too we show the breeze 
Where to find the lonely trees, 

To the little birds that stray 
One must point the homeward way. 

Nor do streamlets always know 
Just exactly where to go. 

These we lightly turn aside 
Till in channels true they glide. 

Thus you see, we ever heed 
Those who wander, those who need. 
Oh, there is so much to do, 

Maybe too, we’re helping you. 


108 



To the little birds that stay one must point the homeward way. 





















































STAYING AWAKE 

“Come go to sleep,” my mother 
says 

At night when clocks strike 
eight. 

“It is not good for little boys 

To stay awake so late.” 

But, Oh, the world’s so beauti¬ 
ful, 

The skies with moonshine 
bright, 

And all outdoors seems whis¬ 
pering, 

And laughing in the light. 

So to myself I say, “O no, 

I mean awake to stay, 

Perhaps the fairies will come 
out 

To dance the night away.” 

But then, next thing, what do 
you ’spose 

Is happening instead? 

The big bright sun is looking in 

And shining on my bed. 


no 










REVERSED 


The comma and the period, 
The semi-colon too, 

Met on a printed page, one day, 
And made a sad ado. 

“Oh, fashion’s changes tire me 
so,” 

The little comma cried, 

“The dashes now we see no 
more, 

The colons too have died.” 

“But not the worst is that, at 
all” 

The semi-colon said, 

“For I have seen a question 
mark 

That stood upon his head.” 

“Of dignity, repose, has he 
Not left a single spark,” 
Then one and all they flouted 
there 

The absent question mark. 

Until the exclamation said, 
“How little do you know, 

It is a Spanish question mark 
That has upset you so.” 


in 






“The Spanish have a custom queer 
Hung on their language tree, 
Quite upside down they often write 
The question mark and me.” 

If you the reason ask of me 
For custom so absurd 
I answer, “Ask the Spanish folk, 
Because I have not heard.” 


□ □ □ 


“STOLEN SWEETS” 

Many are the strange old stories, 

Told of Odin, brave and wise. 

Mightiest he of ancient monarchs, 

Ruling both the earth and skies. 

One day in a sudden frolic, 

He an eagle’s form assumed— 

And so runs the queer old legend, 

Flew where fadeless flowers bloomed. 

There, in sacred store secreted, 

Did he that charmed honey find, 

Which the spell of inspiration 
Casts upon the human mind. 

This with tireless beak purloining, 


112 


(E’en a god it seems can steal) 

Fast he flew to gain his palace 
With his sweet ill-gotten meal. 

But the guardians of the honey 
Swift pursuing, pressed him sore, 

Not a whit their chase abating 
Till he reached his kingly door. 
There, secure he fed those mortals 
Who for his return had stayed, 

And Earth’s wondrous godlike poets 
By this magic meal were made. 

But as he had flown, affrighted, 

By this swift and hot pursuit, 

From his beak great drops of honey 
Fell as falls the mellow fruit. 

Foolish mortals these devoured 
With a greed which would not wait, 
And each drop in stealth thus eaten 
Did a petty bard create. 

Since that day, so runs the story, 
Rhymsters fill the groaning earth, 
Singers croon who know no music, 
Rhymes have neither wit nor worth. 
Thus do I a luckless rhymster, 

Who King Odin’s fault must bear, 
Cry aloud these words of warning, 

“Of all stolen sweets beware.” 


113 


JACK FROST 


I’ve often heard of Jackie Frost, 

And wondered how he looks, 
His picture I have never seen 

In any of my books. 

At night he makes the prettiest 
things 

On all the window panes, 
Houses and trees and birds and 
bugs 

And sometimes railroad 
trains. 

If I could see him I would say, 

Come Jackie tell me true 
Just how you make those things, 
for I 

Would like to make them, too. 

But I don’t think it’s fair for 
him 

To draw and draw at night 
When I’m in bed and sound 
asleep 

And cannot see a mite. 

Some night I mean to stay 
awake 

And see just how it’s done, 

































Then I’ll surprise old Jackie 
Frost 

O my, won’t that be fun? 


□ □ 


THE LITTLE BOY’S PUZZLE 

As from my window high I gaze 

I see so many curious ways 

In this green, waving maple 
tree, 

Which bows and bends quite 
close to me. 

Queer living things here come 
and go, 

While leaves are waving to and 
fro, 

Nor does each seem to mind 
at all 

The other creatures large or 
small. 

Nor how the green leaves toss 
and blow, 

I’d think they’d mind their rus¬ 
tling so; 

But if my finger I put out, 

The creatures scatter all about. 



115 






























Why should they be afraid of me, 

Yet not of that big shaking tree? 

The difference how can they tell 
Between big things that treat them well 
And little things like me, you know, 

Who sometimes hurt and tease them so? 

Well, yes, they must be very wise, 

To know it’s something more than size, 
Which trouble makes for everyone, 

For things that fly and crawl and run. 

But then there’s one thing puzzles so, 
Since they’re so wise, they ought to know 
That they are just as safe with me 
As with that great big shaking tree. 


□ □ □ 


A PROBLEM IN PEAS 

A man once 8 a peck of PP 
Way down in 10 E G, 

I asked him what he was, he said, 

“Oh, just and N T T.” 

“Why did U so,” I asked again, he said, 
“2 TT my Yfe.” 

I said “Your great 10 U E T 
I C has saved your life.” 


116 


This is the sort of thing that keeps 
Men writing L E GG. 

Did it not W all up?” 

He gave a laugh of EE. 

As he replied, “O do not fear 
No pangs my frame can GG, 

Unless my stomach good and strong 
Is MT quite of PP.” 

“XQQ me then,” to him I said, 

“I fear you were a dunce,” 

“Don’t think,” he answered me, “that I 
8 all those PP at once. 

It took me just one str8 long week, 

2 eat a peck of PP, 

How many would that be each meal, 

Just O that now please.” 

□ □ □ 

DISCONTENT 

The days are so cold, and everything’s old, 

I don’t like this world at all. 

If I had some wings, those convenient things 
I would fly clear out of call. 

But I’m just a lass, and I cannot pass 
At will from this world away. 

So I think I’ll try, when my world’s awry 
To do my best while I stay. 


117 


THE LITTLE BOY AND THE TREES 

Last night before I went to sleep 
I looked out at the trees, 

For there they stood without a leaf, 

All shivering in the breeze. 

Poor trees, I said, it seems too bad 
That all your leaves should fall. 

They looked so lonesome in the night, 

So bare and brown and tall. 

And then, this morning, when I woke, 
Each branch was loaded down 

With heaps of snow, all shiney white 
Like mother’s new silk gown. 

And O, I laughed right out, because 
I was so glad to know 

The cold and lonely trees were wrapped 
In all that feathery snow. 


□ O 0 


WHEN THE SNOW COMES 

Glad are we when snow comes 
And the days are cold, 

When the North Wind beats his drum, 
North Wind wild and bold. 


118 






















































Yes, we’re glad when snow comes, 
Sparkling in the sun, 

How we love its whiteness, 

This is time for fun. 

We have made a snow man, 

See him where he stands, 
Funny little snow man 
With his frozen hands. 

Hurrah! then for winter, 

And the falling snow, 

Where there are no snowflakes 
We will never go. 


□ 0 □ 


BOBBY AT SCHOOL 

Our Bobby went to school one day, 

As neat as boy could be, 

His hands and face all scrubbed so clean, 
Carefully brushed his hair, 

And not a speck or spot of dirt 
Upon him anywhere. 

When he came home at night, O dear, 

A different boy was seen, 

Mud on his shoes and not a thing 
About him fresh and clean. 


120 







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His mother said, “You naughty boy 
To come to me like this, 

More dirt than boy, so don’t expect 
From me a loving kiss.” 

“I couldn’t help it,” sobbed the lad, 

“I haven’t been at play, 

I had to help them sow the seeds, 

For this was planting day.” 

“I had to dig down in the dirt, 

The teacher showed me how, 

And some day when I’m bigger grown, 
He’ll teach me how to plow.” 

Then she forgave the sobbing lad, 

Since ’twas the teacher’s rule, 

And bade him tell of other things, 

He’d learned that day in school. 

He looked surprised, as he replied, 
“Why mother dear, I can’t, 

We couldn’t read or write today, 
Because we had to plant.” 


□ □ □ 

A QUEER CLOCK 

I know a funny little clock 
Which every single night 
Must be laid by upon the shelf 
To make it run just right. 


122 


Unless its wheels and springs are kept 
In trim from top to toe 

You’ll find this most exacting clock 
Refusing quite to go. 

But when it has its nightly rest, 

Most faithfully ’twill run, 

And never stop a single bit 
Until the day is done. 

“A tiresome little clock,” you say, 
Well, that indeed is true; 

But listen, here’s a secret great 
That little clock is you. 


□ □ □ 


SOMETHING TO BE THANKFUL FOR 

I’m glad that I am not today 
A chicken or a goose, 

On any other sort of bird 
That is of any use. 

I’d rather be a little girl 
Although ’tis very true, 

The things I do not like at all 
I’m often made to do. 

I’d rather eat some turkey than 
To be one big and fat 
And so with all my heart today 
I’ll thankful be for that. 


123 


THE LONESOME CHILD 

You want to be a naughty girl? too bad, 

For naughty girls are never gay or glad, 

How can they be? When all the children cry 
“Go off, you naughty girl, good bye, good bye, 
We will not let you come with us to play, 

We have no room for naughty girls today.” 

And when they see you coming down the street 
Whoever runs a naughty girl to meet? 

And for a naughty girl no loving word 
Of praise from anyone ever is heard. 

And now, I hope you very plainly see 
A naughty girl a lonesome child must be. 

And so I hope you’ll change at once your plan 
And be as good as any good girl can. 

□ □ □ 

PATIENCE 

O, wear away, O wear away, 

The night is dark and long, 

But soon will come the morning gray, 

The trill of Robin’s song. 

O, wear away, O wear away, 

Each sorrow great or small. 

The tears will cease, the smiles will play 
God’s love is over all. 


124 



PART TWO 

BIRDS 


i 



125 
















THE PROMISE 

Neath the winter sky 

The bare trees wave, 

And o’er the snow the shadows 
lie, 

While through the long, brown 
aisles, 

Where many an acorn finds its 
grave, 

The sun serenely smiles. 

Scene calm and fair, and, as I 
gaze, 

A promise from a dusky bill, 

A promise dear of fairer days, 

Is floating far. O’er copse and 
hill 

The cheery clarion plays, 

“Caw! caw! caw!” 

What prophecies in that wild 
cry 

Of days when green blades 
thickly lie, 

When white clouds sweep the 
sky, 

And dandelions glisten nigh, 

O presage glad, from throat so 
small; 

As echoes far that cheery call, 
“Caw! caw! caw!” 


126 







I see small feet astir, 

I hear wild wings awhirr. 

The robin’s chant rings out, 
The cat-bird’s saucy flout, 

The bluebird’s merriment, 

Yes, all the joys by sweet spring 
sent 

I seem to hear 
Because rings near 
That note so wild and clear, 
“Caw! caw! caw!” 


□ □ 


THE ROBIN 

Sing, Robin, sing! 

Roundelays so sweet and 
clear, 

Dearest time of all the year, 

When upon our eager ear 
Falls your tender song. 

Sing, Robin, sing! 

Leaves of green and skies so 
blue 

Seem to run your liltings 
through, 

Limpid, tender, full and true, 
Falls, your happy song. 




127 


Sing, Robin, sing! 

Do you know that all the earth 
Joins in your familiar mirth? 

Oh, what tender thoughts have birth 
With your cheerful song. 

Sing, Robin, sing! 

Dearest bird of dusky coat, 

All your heart is in your throat, 

Love and joy in every note 
Of your changeless song. 

Sing, Robin, sing! 

Often come, and never go; 

Setting all our hearts aglow, 

Ah! if you could only know 
How we love your song! 

□ □ □ 


BOB WHITE 

Idler and vagrant, where is he roaming 
All the day long, from dawn till the gloaming? 
On the still air sweet accents are falling, 

Back to his home this wild truant calling: 
“Bob White! Bob White! Bob White!” 

Truant and straggler, thus to be hiding, 
Where is the place of his secret abiding? 
Restless eluder, evermore straying, 

Call so insistent still disobeying, 

“Bob White! Bob White! Bob White!” 


128 



Glad in the sunshine, care-free forever. 










































































Unheeding rover, answering never; 

Glad in the sunshine, care-free forever. 

Vain is the cry melodious falling, 

Vain, all in vain, the pleading and calling: 

“Bob White! Bob White! Bob White!” 

Idler and vagrant! O that his roaming 
Might be mine own from dawn till the gloaming, 
Forth by his side forevermore speeding, 
Unhampered as he is, gay and unheeding. 

“Bob White! Bob White! Bob White!” 


□ □ El 


A SAFE SECRET 

Yes, yes, of course I understand, O merry Mr. Wren, 

The story you are telling me, now o’er and o’er again. 

And I have seen the cozy nest, you thought you’d hide 
so high, 

Safe underneath the well-house roof, a place so cool and 
dry. 

And so when you are singing, sir, all through the long 
bright day, 

“I’ve a secret, secret, secret,” I laugh at what you say. 

And though I know you birds all think, (no don’t say ’tis 
not true), 

That for a roguish boy no deed is quite too mean to do, 

Yet, Mr. Wren, before your nest was even quarter 
made, 


130 


I knew of it and how I watched until the eggs were laid. 

Yet no one have I told nor touched your tangled wee, 
brown nest, 

I d like all birds to know, so, sir; I hope you’ll tell the 
rest. 

And now, good day, gay Mr. Wren, sing sweetly in your 
tree; 

We have a secret, you and I, ’tis safe as safe can be. 



BIRDIE’S AND MINE 

Cherries, cherries, ripe and ruddy, 

Sweeter than you think; 

Can you guess where they were growing, 
By the river’s brink, 

Where when clouds refuse their rain-drops, 
They can stoop to drink? 


131 


No, indeed, the hurrying river 
Has no friends like these, 

They were hidden in the tree-tops 
Growing as they please 
’Mong the leaves which all day softly 
Gossip with the breeze. 

Now I will a secret whisper, 

You must tell no one, 

High up in this leafy shelter, 

Shaded from the sun, 

Is a nest with four small birdies, 

Safe from wicked gun. 

Every morning Father birdie, 

Sings a song so sweet, 

That I tell him he is welcome, 
Cherries ripe to eat, 

Then he hops across the branches, 
Softly chirps “toweet.” 

By and by I’ll see these birdies 
Flying far away, 

Yet they’ll not forget this tree-top, 
But will hither stray 
For some cherries, when I see them, 
Welcome I will say. 


132 


He who made for us these cherries, 

Surely must have meant, 

That his birds should share them with us, 
Thus when they are sent 
Here to dip their bills in sweetness, 

Let us not lament. 



THE EAGLE AND THE WREN 

A tiny wren, one morning, sat 
Upon a leafy limb; 

He deftly smoothed his modest coat, 
And made it neat and trim. 

Then as he warbled merrily, 

That way an eagle came 
And haughtily beside the wren 
He perched his ponderous frame. 


133 


“You mite!” he loudly screamed, and fixed 
Upon the wren his eye, 

“What do you call yourself, a bird? 

And tell me, can you fly?” 

“Of course,” the frightened wren replied, 
“Pray don’t you see my wings?” 

And gently, with a modest air, 

He stirred the tiny things. 

“Gould I not fly, how came I here?” 

He asked with upheld head, 

“I thought perhaps you crawled,” in scorn, 
The lordly eagle said. 

“And wherefore do you take the pains 
To spread in paltry flight 

Wings such as yours? If they were mine 
I’d keep them out of sight.” 

To all this tirade did the wren 
His close attention give; 

“Ah, sir,” he said, “you make it seem 
A cruel task to live.” 

“Must all who are not eagles, pray, 

Fold up their wings and die? 

And since yon heights I cannot scale, 
Must I refuse to fly? 


134 


Though I am small and in your sight 
Quite worthless must appear, 

There s one, I think, has need of wrens, 
Else had I not been here.” 

The eagle drooped his regal head 
And answered not again, 

But now, I’m told, the best of friends 
Are he and this small wren. 


□ □ □ 


TO THE WREN 

Sing, little bird, beneath my sill, 

And lull my fears to sleep, 

Close furl thy wings, thy wings of brown, 
And near my window keep. 

Sing little bird, for every note 
The story sweet retells, 

Of all the hope that gilds the world, 

The joy that love compels. 

Sing little bird, the sky is blue. 

The earth is glad and green, 

We’ll grieve not for the morrow’s tears, 
But grasp the joy between. 


135 


THE CROW 

O, what does he say with his changeless cry? 
Hear how he’s calling far up in the sky, 

“Caw, caw, caw.” 

No doubt he thinks ’tis a very fine song 
That is falling, falling all the day long, 

“Caw, caw, caw.” 

Loudly to us if our ears we will use, 

Over and over he’s telling the news, 

“Thaw, thaw, thaw.” 

We know when it thaws the rain will come down, 
And Spring will be here in her gay, green gown, 
With the “Thaw, thaw, thaw.” 

The robin will sing, the flowers will grow, 

All this is promised in call of the crow, 

The “Caw, caw, caw.” 

So call away crow with your coal black throat, 

We love the promise in every note 
Of “Thaw, thaw, thaw.” 

□ □ □ 


IF I COULD 

To know the words of all the birds 
Oh, wouldn’t that be fun? 

I’d take a walk, and then I’d talk 
With every single one. 


136 



So, call away crow, with your coal black throat . 


















THE SELFISH SPARROW 



A Sparrow brown, quite far 
from town, 

Sat moping in a tree, 

It hardly seemed as if a bird 
So very sad could be. 

But with a flout he jerked about 
And said, “I don’t see why 
Each other we should always 
help, 

At every little cry.” 

“I’m sick of all this chirp and 
call 

From morning until night, 
The silly birds cry out for help 
At every trifling plight.” 

“Now after this, I’ll live in bliss, 
I’ll take no help at all, 

Then all the rest will be 
ashamed 

For help on me to call.” 

And on this plan he then began 
His little life to live, 

Of loving help in any need 
To neither take nor give. 


138 






I’d like to tell that all went well 
With him right after that. 

While on the daintiest food he 
lived 

And grew both sleek and fat. 

But this alas! came not to pass. 
When o’er the earth was 
spread 

Its sheet of snow, he often went 
Quite supperless to bed. 

And this is true, I tell to you, 
He must have died one day 

Had not a friendly little bird 
Gome hopping down that 
way. 

“Cheer up!” she cried, close to 
his side, 

“Your plight I plainly see, 

I’ll show you where to get a 
meal 

If you will follow me.” 

And did he heed? Ah, yes in¬ 
deed, 

His heart was full of fear, 

For pride and selfishness depart 
When death seems drawing 
near. 



139 





They flew so fast, and came at last 
Where kindly hands had spread 
A generous meal for hungry birds, 
Beneath a covered shed. 

And from that day, he changed his way. 

Became a better bird, 

To help the other birds he lived, 

At least, that’s what I’ve heard. 


□ □ □ 


THE BLUEBIRD 

“Tru-al-le-le,” sang the Bluebird, 
From his perch in apple tree, 
“Tru-al-le-le, summer’s coming, 
That is why I’m here, you see.” 
“Tru-al-le-le,” sang the Bluebird, 
“We are building, very near, 
Nicest home you ever heard of, 
Don’t you touch it, do you hear?” 


140 


“Tru-al-le-le,” sang the Blue¬ 
bird, 

“Eggs there’ll be, such dainty 
things, 

Faithful wife will sit upon them, 

Keep them warm beneath her 
wings.” 

“Tru-al-le-le,” sang the Blue¬ 
bird, 

“Soon the birdies will come 
out, 

If you watch me, you will know 
it, 

By the way I fly about.” 

“Tru-al-le-le,” sang the Blue¬ 
bird, 

“With those hungry mouths 
to feed, 

Not much time there’ll be for 
loafing, 

Have to work then, yes in¬ 
deed!” 

“True-al-le-le,” sang the Blue¬ 
bird, 

“Yes, the summer time is 
near, 

And the nest is growing, grow¬ 
ing, 

Don’t you touch it, do you 
hear?” 



141 


WHICH ONE? 




When I see the white swans 
glide 

Up and down the river’s tide, 
Then it truly seems to me 
I would love a swan to be. 

When the Peewee’s song so 
clear 

From the wild wood far, I hear, 
Then I think I’d rather be 
Just a little gray Peewee. 

When I see the swallows fly 
Up, way up, most to the sky, 
Then a swallow, glad and free, 
Is the one I’d choose to be. 

When the Robin’s song I hear, 
And can see him sitting near, 
While his mate is on the nest, 
Then I love the Robin best. 

When I hear the gay Wren’s 
song, 

Trilling, trilling all day long, 
Quick, I change my mind again, 
Wish to be a merry Wren. 


142 



If I’d wish about one bird, 

Never change a single word, 

Then perhaps—but don’t you see? 
I can’t tell which one ’twould be. 


□ □ □ 


THE CHEW INK 

“Chewink, chewink, 

What do you think? 

The spring is here 
Though skies are drear. 

Now list to my call so loud and clear. 
“Chewink, chewink!” 

“The bluebird’s song 
Must come ere long, 

And chorus grand 
Will wake the land. 



143 



But little will you understand. 

“Chewink, chewink!” 

“But you must think 
It was chewink 
Who first did bring 
The news of spring, 

For far and wide his call did ring, 
“Chewink, chewink!” 

“Ere Robin came, 

My merry name 
Proclaimed to you 
The message true, 

Then treat me well, the summer through. 
“Chewink, chewink!” 


□ □ □ 


THE QUAIL 

Hark, from the field, where the wheat heads are yellow, 
He’s calling aloud, with whistle so mellow, 

“Wheat’s ripe, wheat’s ripe!” 

Or from the fence where the hot sun is beating, 

List to the message he’s loudly repeating, 

“More wet, more wet!” 

What is the name of this gay, happy fellow? 

Hark, while he tells with his whistle so mellow, 
“Bob White, Bob White!” 


144 


THE MEADOW LARK 


Though skies above are softly blue, 

And lush the clover ’neath the dew, 

Still rises from the tuneful throat 
That wistful, sad, appealing note. 

Some woe to human pulse unknown, 
Hast thou, lone mourner, for thy own? 
And has that plaintive tune confessed 
The grief beneath thy yellow breast? 

On yonder tuft, in meadow green, 

At rest thy rumpled form is seen, 

While from thy lifted, open bill 
Through all the air thy pleadings thrill. 

But I have filled thy heart with fright, 
A gleam of feathers snowy white, 

And lo! thou bafflest keenest sight! 

Yet spite those hurrying, mottled wings, 
Within my ear thy music rings— 

Though songs unsung may still be thine, 
One ever more I hold as mine. 


145 





THE ROBIN’S SONG 


Robin, robin, sing your song, 
Merrily the whole day long, 
From the meadow and the hill 
Send afar your merry trill. 

On the fence post, in the tree, 
How we love your form to see. 
Robin, robin, sing away, 

Far too short your summer stay. 

Dearest one of all the birds, 

How I wish I knew your words. 
Knew the loving things you say 
When you sing at break of day. 

All the stories you repeat 
When the sun and river meet. 
Though I listen, listen so, 

Not a single word I know. 


□ □ □ 


SO FEW 

All birds sing well when skies are blue 
And human lips the same will do, 

If a song they know, 

But birds and lips, alas! are few, 

Who still sing songs all clear and true, 
When clouds hang low. 


146 




Robin, robin, sing your song, 


































TWO PROMENADERS 


Two promenaders fine, and gay, 

Beneath my window passed today, 

In new spring gowns so trim and neat, 
From glossy crown to well-kept feet. 

They gave no heed to me at all, 

But passed beyond my ivied wall, 

Yet, ere an hour had hurried by, 

Again I saw them drawing nigh. 

Then well I scanned each coat of brown, 

The glossy collar reaching down, 

To meet the vest of mottled red, 

Which o’er each ample breast was spread. 

And as they hastened past my door, 

I thought of summer days in store 
And wondered if I oft should see 
Those promenaders dear to me. 

But who were they? Ah, would you know? 
Then listen, while I whisper low, 

Two robins, busy in their quest 
Of building timber for a nest. 


148 


FUSS AND FEATHERS 

“Peter, Peter, Peter,” 

Sings the Mocking bird. 

And for just a bird song, 
Isn’t that absurd? 

When I hear him calling, 
Waiting for reply, 

Then I think that Peter, 
Home must quickly fly. 

“Peter, Peter, Peter,” 

Where do you suppose 

Naughty Peter’s hiding? 
’Neath a full blown rose? 

How I wonder, wonder, 
What has Peter done? 

Maybe he’s been flying 
Near a man and gun. 

Careless little Peter, 
Straying far away, 

He should know the danger 
In too long a stay. 

“Peter, Peter, Peter,” 

Seems just like a boy 

Keeping “father” calling, 
Spoiling all his joy. 


149 


Tired you must be calling 
All the livelong day, 

But it may be, sometime, 
Peter will obey. 

But we’d be so lonely, 
Dear old Mocking bird, 
If that call for “Peter” 
Were no longer heard. 



150 






A SAD SINGER 

O, Meadow lark, Meadow lark, tell me why 
You always are sounding that lonesome cry? 
Now from the meadow the call you repeat, 

Over and over, so sad and yet sweet. 

Meadow lark, Meadow lark, come tell me true, 
Has there some dreadful thing happened to you? 
I don’t believe it, though sad is your note, 

You should be glad, when so high you can float. 

If I could fly, I would never be sad, 

But sing all the day, with notes clear and glad, 
Maybe, dear Meadow lark, that is your way 
Of singing a song which you think is gay. 


151 


Fly away, Meadow lark, back to your nest, 
Fly away home, the sun’s in the west, 

You cannot be lonesome, since it is true 
A nest and a mate are waiting for you. 



THE AUGUST SONG 

Though lacking all the groves 
The mirth of merry May, 

Though far the brown-thrush roves 
And stilled the robin’s lay, 

All day, in wistful notes, 

That song unceasing floats 
From bush and maple tree 
“Pe-e-wee!” 


152 


Bird of one changeless song, 

So soothing, calm and sweet, 

The August days so long 
Making a dream complete. 

The hush of song, the summer’s speed 
We do not mourn, we only heed 
The story glad and free, 

“Pe-e-wee!” 


□ □ □ 


THE ORIOLE 

Gay little Oriole, hear how he’s singing, 

Out in the tree where his brown nest is swinging. 
Bright little Oriole, back plush and yellow, 

Is the one suit of this frolicsome fellow. 

All day we hear him, merrily calling, 

Over and over his pipings are falling. 

Gay little fellow, so happily singing, 

While his brown mate is contentedly swinging. 
Happy-go-lucky, he never is working, 

All the day long so constantly shirking, 

Because of his whistle so cheery and mellow 
Still are we loving the gay, lazy fellow. 


153 


A FEATHERED TEACHER 


Hard by, in yon oak, his brown nest is swinging, 
While from his bright throat sweet music is ringing, 
Glad Oriole! 

Why is his heart so merry, I wonder, 

Is it because of his mate sitting yonder? 

Fond Oriole! 

Now hear him in glee his full notes repeating, 

While with his bright wings the time he is beating, 
Bright Oriole! 

Be skies brightly blue, or cold, dull and dreary, 

Still ring from on high his warblings so cheery, 

Gay Oriole! 

Not from without is he merriment winning, 

But deep in his heart it finds its beginning, 

Blest Oriole! 

Give me the joy ’neath thy feathered breast swelling, 
Teach me the lesson thy gay notes are telling, 

Sweet Oriole! 

“Oh, trust and be happy,” this thou art saying, 

Ever this teaching to sad hearts conveying, 

Wise Oriole! 


154 











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Hard by, in yon oak, his brown nest is swinging, 



























































































































































THE UNWELCOME VISITOR 

Wee Jennie Wren, upon her porch, one day, 

Stood ready quite, to fly far, far away; 

Long had she sat upon her tiny eggs 

And gladly now she stretched her slender legs. 

Her mate was singing loudly from the tree, 

“Babies have come and that means work for me.” 
So, had you searched the whole wide world around, 
A happier pair you nowhere could have found. 

The little brown mother, thinking, no doubt, 

What fun it would be to fly all about 

Was preening her wings to take a long flight, 

When, dear, and O dear, she had such a fright! 


156 




Up the rough tree-trunk a swift creature came, 
He was so big, Mr. Squirrel, his name. 

And she was so small, this brown Jennie Wren, 
She should go back to her warm nest again? 

Or fly far from him, since wings he had none? 
No, downward she came like a ball from a gun, 
And how she did chatter, and threaten, and scold 
Poor little squirrel for being so bold. 

He had gone up the tree lively and light, 

The way he went down, indeed, was a sight! 

Then Mr. Wren, too, joined hot in the chase 
And squirrel ran off, far, far from that place. 

The four little feet went scampering so fast 
Into the woods, he escaped them at last. 

And this is the truth, I’m telling to you, 

He did not come back, the long summer through. 



157 


THE TRA VELED HEN 



“Gluck, cluck, cluck,” said the 
old mother hen 
To her eight small, fluffy 
chicks, 

“Gluck, cluck, cluck, we will 
see the world, 

And learn some wonderful 
tricks.” 

“Gluck, cluck, cluck,” she pa¬ 
tiently scratched 
A hole right under the gate, 

Then through it she scuttled so 
proud, 

And with those chickens 
eight. 

Into a neighbor’s garden fair, 
Her black little chicks she 
led, 

Bugs and worms in plenty were 
there, 

“Ah, here we can feast,” she 
said. 

“Cluck, cluck, cluck, we will 
stay all day,” 

She said to those chickens 
eight, 


158 













But O, just then a big black dog 

Dashed in through the barn¬ 
yard gate. 

Over the fence the poor hen 
flew, 

No minutes had she to wait 

For things so small they 
couldn’t fly, 

Those little black chickens 
eight. 

She clucked, and clucked with 
all her might, 

To call them from harm 
away, 

While they ran, “peeping,” here 
and there, 

Those little black chickens 
eight. 

The sun was low ere the chick¬ 
ens eight 

Were brooded close again, 

“We’ll roam no more to see the 
world,” 

Clucked the wise old mother 

hen. 


159 


























“MANY BIRDS OF MANY 
KINDS” 

Little black-bird in the tree, 
Singing, singing merrily, 

All the day his happy song 
Helps the work and play along. 

Now a little wren I hear, 
Happy fellow, sitting near, 
Naught of fear he seems to 
know, 

Watching as we come and go. 

And a pewee’s sweet notes call, 
On the summer air they fall, 
From some hidden bush or tree 
Hear his tender call, “Pe-wee!” 

Hark, on high, the best of all, 
Brown thrush singing, hear him 
call, 

Hear him, hear him, glad and 
free, 

Happy song for you and me. 

Dull would be this earth, I fear 
If there were no birds to hear. 
Think, O think, how sad 
’twould be 

Not a bird in any tree. 


160 









Surely then you’ll help them 
live, 

Nor take life you could not give, 
And, each day, remember this, 
Even one sweet song we’d miss. 

□ □ 

THE WHIP-POOR-WILL 
When the summer night is still, 
Then I hear it, “Whip-poor- 
will,” 

And I wonder, wonder why 
Gomes so much that mournful 
cry. 

If poor Will has been so bad, 
And made all the folks so sad, 
Do not whip the little man, 
But just try some other plan. 

Sometimes boys will be so good 
When their ways are under¬ 
stood. 

But to whip them—O, no, no, 
Will not make the goodness 
grow. 

How to pity that poor Will 
When the summer night is still, 
“Whip-poor-Will” the lonely 
call, 

And I cannot help at all. 


161 








THE WANDERER 

“Bob White, Bob White, Bob White!” hear the soft 
calling, 

On hot summer air so patiently falling. 

“Bob White,” naughty boy, where can he be straying? 
Over and over these calls disobeying. 

“Bob White, Bob White,” now ’tis time for returning, 
Over the wheatfields the bright sun is burning, 

You will be lost if much longer you’re roaming, 
Hasten, O hasten, stay not for the gloaming. 

“Bob White!” do you hear? The shadows grow longer, 
Soon ’twill be night when the breezes blow stronger. 
Pray how will you fare, thus wandering ever? 

Gome back, O come back, and roam again never. 

“Bob White, Bob White,” all in vain is the pleading, 
Still does he wander forever unheeding; 

While from the fence rails and hay-ricks of clover 
“Bob White” is repeated over and over. 


□ □ □ 


THE PEEWEE 

A little bird in sober gray 
Repeats from shady depths all day, 
“Pe-e-wee.” 


162 


I wonder what he tries to tell 
With that sweet note we love so well, 
“Pe-e-wee.” 


I think he’s telling us, don’t you? 
About his nest and birdies too. 
With his “Pe-e-wee!” 


And should you boldly come too near, 
I think he’d say, “Begone from here!” 
With his “Pe-e-wee!” 



163 










♦ 


164 








PART THREE 

CHRISTMAS 
AND OTHERS 


165 






WHY? 


Why do we pause on the world’s busy way? 

Pause and sing gladly our praises today? 

Because a dear Babe in a low manger lay. 

To Bethlehem came that wonderful night, 

The rich and the great all gayly bedight; 

Forgotten their names in time’s rapid flight. 

But one name of all now spans the whole earth, 

While keeping the day, glad day of His birth, 

Still keeping the day with praises and mirth. 

’Mong all the throngs who to Bethlehem came, 

Only the Babe in the manger we name. 

Only the Babe in the manger today, 

Spreads o’er the earth his beneficent sway. 

Because of the Babe in the manger so low 
Chimes, Christmas chimes, round the wide world now 
go. 

□ □ □ 


CHRISTMAS CHEER 

What must I do on Christmas day? 

Why just be kind to every one 
And perhaps I’ll get the habit, 

So every day ’twill be just fun. 


166 


ON CHRISTMAS MORNING 


Let the gladsome bells proclaim 
Banished now all strife and 
blame. 

Spread the happy chorus. 

Merry bells across the snow, 
Where the children come and 
go 

Tell the story for us. 

Not of Santa Claus we sing, 
But of Jesus Christ our King, 
He a ransom for us. 

Let the children tell it o’er, 
Now as many times before, 

In the gladsome chorus. 


Merry bells, ring out, ring out, 
While the children’s voices 
shout, 

Christmas gladness bringing. 
May the Christ joy with us 
stay, 

Not alone this happy day, 

But while years are winging. 


167 




CHRISTMAS 


Burned the stars with brighter flame 
Hung the sky in deeper blue 
When the throng of angels came 
Singing songs so sweet and new. 
“Peace on earth, good will to men,” 
We will spread the song afar, 

Loudly sound the glad Amen, 

’Neath the glow of Bethlehem’s star. 


□ □ □ 


OLD SANTA’S HARD TIMES 

Old Santa Claus sat in his wide cushioned chair, 

And gazed at the sky with a pitiful air; 

“The winter is coming apace,” he said, 

“Yonder maples are yellow, the sumach is red, 

And this stretch of meadow, so green and so gay, 
’Neath the snow’s spotless sheet must soon hide away.” 
“Yes, winter is near,” and he heaved a deep sigh, 
While a teardrop stood in each kindly old eye. 

“The prices are rising, yet reindeer must eat, 

And new shoes must be bought for ten pairs of feet, 
While poor Mrs. Santa and I have agreed 
To forego the new clothes which sorely we need.” 


168 



Old Santa Claus sat in his wide cushioned chair 






























































“For there are the presents I some¬ 
how must get, 

For the boys and the girls I’ve never 
fooled yet. 

Yet alas, with all of my saving and 
care, 

Just plain little gifts to each one can 
I spare.” 

Again a deep sigh heaved his ample 
old breast, 

It was hard for the saint, it must be 
confessed. 

But while he sat thus with his brow 
overcast, 

His eyes on the landscape, his 
thoughts on the past, 

Of days when his store house held 
presents so gay, 

Awaiting a ride in his magical 
sleigh— 

He heard a soft step at the back of 
his chair. 

He turned in amazement to see who 
was there. 

’Twas the tiniest form that greeted 
his gaze, 

And from its light pinions fell long 
shining rays. 


170 


























Poor old Santa declared quite under 
his breath, 

That it must be an angel, the angel 
of Death. 

Then the bright creature said, “My 
name is Content, 

From my master, the king, to you I 
am sent. 

“Your presents so plain I will touch 
till they gleam, 

Like the richest of gifts that flit 
through your dream. 

I can make a poor doll in garments 
so mean 

Appear as if clad in the robes of a 
queen. 

A paltry tin whistle, without gilding 
or paint, 

I’ll gild,”—but at this interrupted the 
saint. 

“Come on,” he exclaimed, as he 
sprang from his chair, 

And he led the way up his long, wind¬ 
ing stair. 

“See, here are my gifts,” and he 
opened the door, 

“If you’ll gild all of these I’ll ask for 
no more.” 





171 



“But stay,” cried the sprite, “you this 
law must obey, 

If you utter a word I’ll vanish away.” 

Then the jolly old saint his fat finger 
laid 

Close over his lips and strict silence 
essayed. 

While here and there flitted the won¬ 
derful sprite, 

Till each paltry gift held a jewel’s 
own light. 

And brighter with hope grew the 
heart of the saint, 

As he said, “None can now have 
cause for complaint,” 

But before a French doll at last 
paused the sprite, 

Its dress was of satin, all glist’ning 
and white, 

Its hair like spun gold hung in shim¬ 
mering curls, 

While around its white neck ran a 
string of wee pearls. 

Near the beautiful toy long halted the 
sprite 

As if lost in surprise—or was it de¬ 
light? 


172 







She lifted her wing, but in a voice 
loud and gruff, 

Old Santa exclaimed, “Ho! that’s 
handsome enough,” 

He reached forth his hand, but O, 
where was the sprite? 

Gone like a flash from the meteor’s 
light. 

Old Santa look round, then he said, 
“Well, I’m blest, 

She has passed the best things and 
gilded the rest.” 

So Christmas came on, with its frost 
and its snow, 

The reindeer were hitched and im¬ 
patient to go, 

“And now,” said the saint, “Mrs. 
Santa, good night, 

I’ll surely return with the first streak 
of light. 

Now Flasher, and Dasher, be off and 
away! 

We have something to do, ’tween now 
and the day.” 

Then away they all sped o’er country 
and town, 

While the moon and the stars looked 
smilingly down, 

And as right through the roofs the 
jolly saint went, 






173 








He thought of the work of the fairy 
“Content.” 

“Now for hard times a fig!” aloud 
shouted he, 

And the hills and the dales re-echoed 
his glee. 

But at last it was done, the presents 
were gone, 

And far in the east hung the first tint 
of dawn. 

Then over the tree tops went the rein¬ 
deers’ wild trot, 

While the saint thought of breakfast 
all waiting and hot. 

And just as the turkey was garnished 
with care, 

With a rush and a whirr, old Santa 
was there. 

* * * * 

The breakfast was over, the saint at 
his ease, 

Pulled out of his pocket his “See- 
what-you-please,” 

Now this was a mirror in which was 
portrayed 

The scenes at the homes where his 
visits he’d made. 

And lo, as he gazed, he laughed loud 
in delight, 

“Oho, Mrs. Santa, here is a queer 
sight.” 

174 






“For my poor little gifts are greeted 
with cheers, 

While the handsomest things are 
watered by tears. 

See, yon watch greets a frown, the 
jumping jack glee. 

Hard times were a blessing, now wife, 
don’t you see? 

But for them, I’d not know, I’m fain 
to confess 

That the wings of Content such 
power possess.” 


□ □ □ 


A CHRISTMAS LESSON 

If we could learn this Christmas day, 
Just the one art of being kind, 

What joy we’d scatter on our way, 
What happiness ourselves would find. 

If we could learn this Christmas day, 
The meaning of the words “good will,” 
A benison, along the way, 

Each life would be through good or ill. 


175 



ONE PERFECT NIGHT 

Only a manger, rude and low, 

Where awe-struck faces come and go. 
Only the hay with fragrance mild 
Beneath a wondering infant child. 

Yet, ’mong the stars that steadfast shine, 
Angels are chorusing songs divine. 

“Peace and good will o’er all the earth, 
Good gifts to man from this lowly birth.” 

Surely the skies with a holier light 
Gleam o’er the earth this wondrous night; 
Surely the sky with a blue more deep 
Looks on the earth as it lies asleep. 


176 


___ 1 







Softer, softer, must waft the breeze 
Over the silent olive trees. 

Fairer and brighter comes the morn 
Since to the earth its king is born. 

And love its healing message brings 
To all mankind on its snowy wings. 

Over the earth with its woe and pain, 

At the Christ Child’s birth begins love’s reign. 


□ □ □ 


THE WONDROUS NIGHT 

Did the stars more brightly shine, 

On that night so far away, 

When the angel’s song divine 

Woke the first glad Christmas day? 

Did the winds more softly blow 
’Mong the olive trees afar, 

While above the stable low 

Hung that glowing, guiding star? 

O’er that lowly manger bed 
Was there only cloudless blue, 

As the nights its wings outspread, 
Held the earth in slumber true? 

Wondrous night; then to the earth 
Came the Babe in manger small, 
Love and peace then had their birth 
As a deathless gift to all. 


177 


A CHRISTMAS PRAYER 


Hark! a silver bell is ringing; 

Gently, lightly swinging. 

Now a loud alarm rings; 

Voices join in glad acclaim, 

Tiding sweet the pecans bring, 
Angels speak a holy name. 

“Christ is born to you,” they sing, 

He the joy of loving brings. 

O’er the manger, rude and low, 
Awe-struck faces come and go, 

While the stars more brightly shine. 
Heavenly Babe, thy radiant light 
Shines far down the path of years, 
Brightens error’s starless night. 

Beams o’er human woes and tears, 
Gilds the earth with light divine. 
Kingly Babe, we bend the knee, 
Suppliant, craving gifts from Thee. 

Grant we wisdom’s gold may find, 
Truth like fragrant frankincense, 
Myrrh of sweet humility. 

Free us from all false pretence. 
Crowning all with love for Thee, 
Love for Thee and all mankind. 


178 


CHRISTMAS EVE 


Christmas eve, what magic 
In those words so small, 
When from lips of children 
Merrily they fall. 

Dreams so rare they carry 
To each girl and boy 
That we only wonder 
How they hold their joy. 

Visions of the Christchild 
’Mong the lowly herd, 

While with love and wonder 
Each young heart is stirred. 

Linger visions holy, 

To the children near, 

Stay, O, Christmas Spirit, 
Through the changing year! 

With your gracious presence 
In each childish heart, 
Words and deeds unlovely, 
Must afar depart. 



179 













A NARROW ESCAPE 

The Christmas eve had come, dear night of merriment, 
The time of peace and joy, of love and good intent. 

But in the home of Santa Claus there was commotion 
rare, 

For he, the erstwhile jolly soul, was cross as any bear. 

And this was what had roused his ire, some bold and 
ruthless wight 

Had carried off his overcoat,—now wasn’t that a plight? 


180 








So, up and down and through the house, he tore like one 
possessed 

Till Mrs. Santa’s honest soul was grievously distressed. 

All sorts of coats of many hues, from red to sober dun, 

They brought from everywhere, and begged that he 
would try them on, 

But at these efforts, so well meant, he only stormed the 
more, 

Until, I’m sure, so wroth a saint was never seen before. 



181 








Then, said his wife, “Why is it pray, no other coat will 
do?” 

“The secret of that coat,” said he, “I thought of course 
you knew. 

I am as large as any man, outside that old gray coat, 

Inside I am so small that through a key-hole I can float. 

“Oh,” said his wife, “I’ll go straightway and have an¬ 
other made,” 

But, as she spoke, lo, at their feet the overcoat was laid, 

And then a fairy soon they saw who spoke in silvery 
tone, 

“Forgive me, Santa dear, and I the whole sad truth 
will own.” 

“I thought I’d wear your coat, and then I’d do your 
work this year, 

But, that I needed something more, to me was soon 
made clear. 

Clothes may be well indeed, but they don’t change the 
soul, I see, 

And henceforth, I will only try my own best self to be.” 

Then as the fairy disappeared, old Santa’s anger died, 

And soon away, child hearts to cheer, in happy mood 
he hied. 

But had the fairy kept the coat, I’m very much afraid, 

No visit on that Christmas eve, would Santa Claus 
have made. 


182 


BRINGING THEM TRUE 


“Peace on earth,” we gladly sing, 
While the Christmas chimings ring. 
“Peace on earth,” O, then today 
Strife and anger drive away. 

“Peace on earth,” Oh, would you know 
All this earth can well bestow? 
Cherish then sweet love and peace 
Bid all thoughts of anger cease. 

“Peace, good will,” a sweet reply, 

Then will we, just you and I, 
Something do to good will bring, 
Something do, just as we sing. 

Something do, ’tis easy quite, 

While we sing to feel just right, 

Deeds of love alone can fill 
This old world with glad good will. 


□ □ □ 


AT CHRISTMAS TIME 

Forget, forget, it is well to know 
When to remember, when to forego. 
Forget all grief, bitterness, sadness, 
Remember joy, beauty and gladness. 


183 


Yes, yes, let all things fair have sway 
Upon this gladsome Christmas day. 
And O, forget every bitter word, 
Remember only kind things we ve heard. 
Forget, forget, wipe it all away, 
Remember only glad things today. 

Yes, yes, upon this Christmas day, 
Let only love assume its sway. 



A CHRISTMAS CONCLUSION 

’Twas the day before Christmas, and all through the 

land . 

Rang that cry of the children which none can withstand, 
“Old Santa is coming, rare treasures he brings, 

A pack loaded down with most wonderful things!” 


184 




















But old Santa, Alas! like a mere mortal man, 

To fret and to fume at his duties began; 

For he had been roaming about in disguise, 

And the state of affairs had caused him surprise. 

For what do you think was the first thing he learned? 
Why all the bad children to good ones had turned; 
Gone all the ill temper and cross angry looks, 

Devoted each child to his work and his books. 

And he groaned as he said, “I plainly can see 
On this Christmas eve there’s no shirking for me, 

Not one naughty child in the whole merry flock, 

’Tis plain I must work until five by the clock.” 

“But my dear,” said his wife, “you ought to be glad 
That at last there’s not left a child who is bad.” 

Said the saint with a smile and a look that was queer, 
“They ought to expect me each day in the year.” 


□ □ □ 


THE SUMMER WIND 

The wind makes islands in the sky, 

And yonder where the grape vines grow 
A thousand leaves their white backs show. 
Like tiny flags a-flaunt on high. 


186 


The elm its long, slim arms flings wide, 

The fir its stately head uplifts, 

While through its green the sunlight sifts, 
And stiffly bows the poplar’s pride. 

The oak leaves touch and whisper low, 
The clover nods its head so gay, 

While all things living seem to say, 
“What joy, when summer breezes blow!” 


□ □ □ 


DO YOU? 

What would you think if the flower should sigh, 
“I believe I’ll not sing this morn; 

The worms are all dead, or hidden away, 

And everything’s cold and forlorn?” 

What would you think if the flower should sigh, 
“I don’t want to blossom today; 

The wind is so cold, no blue in the sky; 

The bees are all flitted away?” 

What do you think of the mortal who bears 
Forever this wail in his breast, 

“The earth is so sad, so burdened with cares, 
Gome let us be sad with the rest?” 


187 


MOTHERS BOY 


His upheld brow, his honest eyes, 

His face alight with joy, 

The story tell to all who pass 
“Behold the mother’s boy.” 

A lie he hates and deeds that may 
Another’s peace destroy 
He scorns with all his youthful might, 

For he is mother’s boy. 

Where droop the friendless, or the sad, 
Their lives all shorn of joy, 

He comes with merry words of cheer, 

This blessed mother’s boy. 

His smile how bright, his breath how sweet, 
O, where is greater joy, 

When mother’s lips feel warm and true 
The kiss of mother’s boy? 

Though all the titles grand and high 
Which fame and pride employ, 

Be yours, dear boy, the highest, best, 

’Tis this, “a mother’s boy.” 


188 


A SONG OF CHEER 

If all the earth were gray, dear, 
And skies were never blue, 
If sun and moon were shrouded, 
And stars we never knew. 

If not a flower bloomed, dear, 
Nor wild bird sang its song, 
Then you and I might grumble, 
And say, “The world is 
wrong.” 

But no, the flowers are bloom¬ 
ing, 

The robin’s flute we hear, 
From hill-top and from valley 
The world is full of cheer. 
No night, however gloomy 
But has its morning true, 
And clouds however heavy, 
Must let the sunshine 
through. 

And so when life goes wrong, 
dear, 

Its lessons we will learn, 

Our hearts keep brave and 
true, dear, 

Our faith to heaven turn. 



189 










And then whatever comes, dear, 
We never will be sad, 

But find a bit of sunshine, 

And in that bit be glad. 



A NAME FOR THE BABY 

O, where is a name for the baby? 

Come tell me every one, 

Give me a name as sweet as a rose, 

And bright as the morning sun. 

A name that shall tell wherever ’tis heard 
The graces and charms of this baby bird. 

Yes, tell me some names for baby, 

All pure and beautiful things, 

Fair as a bud, tender as love, 

And glad as a bird’s light wings. 

For baby’s name when whispered o’er 
A thousand charms must hold in store. 


190 


Then give me a name for baby, 

For a queen a crown must wear, 

And one befitting her royal brow, 

Must dainty be and rare, 

Surely all of Earth’s wondrous lore, 

Some fitting name must hold in store. 

Yes, give me a name for baby, 

From earth or sky or air, 

We can’t always call her “Pearl” and “Pet” 
“Jewel” and “Sunny Hair.” 

O, for a name, which in all its parts 
Will adorn our queen, our queen of hearts. 


□ □ □ 


AT TWILIGHT 
Baby, sleep. 

Gone the sun to quiet rest, 
Hushed the crowded robin’s nest 
All the sounds of summer day, 
Softly now are laid away, 

Sleep, sleep. 

Baby, sleep. 

Here and there a leaf is stirred, 
O’er a sweetly slumbering bird, 
Now and then ’neath yonder hill 
Pipes the lonely whippoorwill, 
Sleep, sleep. 


191 


Baby, sleep. 

O’er yon distant hills so green, 

Now a golden disc is seen, 

Baby close those tired eyes 
Ere the moon has lit the skies, 

Sleep, sleep. 

Baby, sleep. 

Swaying shadows everywhere, 
Murmurings fond are in the air, 
Summer’s night-world now awakes, 
Fairy hues our musing takes, 

Sleep, sleep. 

Baby, sleep. 

While the moonbeams o’er him shine, 
Sleep’s soft meshes round him twine, 
Lower falls each waxen lid 
Till the merry eyes are hid, 

Yes, the baby sleeps. 



192 




BABY’S ANSWER 

Dainty little baby 
With your neck like snow 
Pray what are you good for, 

I should like to know. 
Useless little baby, 

With your eyes so blue, 
What were you ever made for, 
Such a mite as you? 

Helpless little baby, 

Hands like velvet soft, 
Whatever are you here for? 

This I’ve wondered oft. 
Fragile little baby, 

With your tinted toes, 

Pray how shall we use you? 
Tell, for no one knows. 

Dimpling little baby, 

Cooing soft and low, 
Wherefore did you come here, 
Tell me, if you know. 

Then those lips so dewy, 

Listen now to this, 

Say as plain as English, 

“Come for you to kiss.” 



193 









A REMEDY 


“Ho, feather bunch high in your tangled brown nest, 
Aren’t you tired of your nook and your long silent rest? 
Be off on the wing with your comrades so gay,„ 
Brushing the clouds on their slow, downy way.” 

But this did the bird softly chirp in return, 

“In patience to wait is the lesson I learn.” 

“Oh, fair silken bud your beauty unfold, 

Some wonderful thing I am sure you must hold, 

So often I come and watch by your side, 

But your dream clothes around you all tightly are tied. 
Then softly the bud whispered low in return, 

“In patience to wait is the lesson I learn.” 

“Oh, hurry on Time, bring the birthdays along; 

A man I would be, brave, whiskered and strong. 

If I only could wake some morning and find 
My boyhood and school days left far behind. 

Then a voice seemed to whisper so low in his ear, 
“Wait and full soon will your manhood be here.” 

“ ’Tis wait everywhere,” cried the boy in ^disdain, 
“The things I most want, I cannot attain.” 

But here is a remedy, poor little lad, 

And better, I’m sure, no mortal e’er had, 

Time’s feet it will set at a galloping gait, # w 

If you’ll only remember to “work while you wait. 


194 



"If / only could wake some morning and find my boyhood and school days left far behind” 






NOBODY’S CAT 

On the cold sighing wind the winter draws near, 
The flowers are vanished, the earth is so drear; 
Dark is the sky, 

Yet roaming am I, 

With my dirty, white coat, so shabby and rough, 
With nowhere to sleep and to eat not enough. 

For I am nobody’s cat. 

A half starving mouse 
From an empty old house 
Was the dinner for which I faithfully fought, 

To my outreaching paw, 

And my poor hungry maw, 

It seemed but a crumb of the meal I had sought. 
And now in this alley, all curled in a heap, 

I shiver, and vainly am trying to sleep, 

For I am nobody’s cat. 


196 





Last night in my slumber I had such a dream; 

I had fish, and cold meat and sweet yellow cream, 
And a rug by the fire 
To fulfill my desire, 

While a hand that was soft was near to caress, 
Oh, why did I wake to my woe and distress, 

To be nobody’s cat? 

It was but today 
There happened my way 
A lad with a beautiful smile in his eye, 

I thought he would heed 
If he knew all my need, 

Then nearer I drew with a pitiful cry, 

But O, with a shock, I was sent ’gainst a wall, 

My bones are still sore from that perilous fall, 

But I’m nobody’s cat. 




Ah, somewhere, I’m sure, there watches an Eye, 
O’er creatures so wretched they hope but to die, 
And the pain which is sent 
With an evil intent 

Must be put in the balance and weighed. 

While a kind, tender pat, 

Or e’en better than that 
A meal for the pussy estrayed 

Would be counted as gold unmixed with alloy, 
And awake the soft purr of contentment and joy 
From nobody’s cat. 


□ □ El 

IN THE FASHION 

A funny, frisky yellow pup, 

Serenely, one day, said, 

“I wonder now how it would seem 
To stand upon my head?” 

He tried the trick, and strange to say, 
Made out so very well 
He ran about the neighborhood 
The other dogs to tell. 

And so the tiresome fashion spread 
To alley, lane and street, 

Till not a single dog was left 
That stood upon his feet. 


198 


MY MOTHER’S SMILE 


You talk to me of gems and gold, 
And treasures well worth while, 
But I have one exceeding all, 

My mother’s loving smile. 

The days may come, the days may go 
And bring me changes great, 

But while my mother’s smile I see 
I laugh at cruel fate. 

This world has many charms I know 
Which eye and ear beguile, 

I turn from all in joy to greet 
My mother’s loving smile. 

And may no act or word of mine 
I pray from day to day 
Bring sadness on that loving face 
And drive the smile away. 


□ □ □ 


AT THE ZOO 

Contentedly eating in open pen, 

A big elephant stood one day, 

The wind was high and a newspaper blew 
Right down on the elephant’s hay. 


199 


I watched him wondering what he would do, 
With the paper the wind had sent, 

His big smooth trunk deftly gathered it up, 
And straight into his mouth it went. 

Into his mouth and then down his big throat, 
It was swallowed beyond recall, 

Till of that paper so big with the news 
There was left just nothing at all. 

Though he couldn’t read, he had “taken in” 
All the news without any doubt, 

And perhaps he knew quite as much of it 
As some others I have heard about. 


□ □ □ 


HONEST EYES 

The boy who ever meets my gaze 
With honest, steadfast eyes, 

Nor with averted face and lids 
Low drooping makes replies— 

Who, though his face may fail to charm, 
Art’s captious devotee, 

Yet holds a beauty born of truth, 

O, he’s the boy for me. 


200 


rough, 

Awkward and slow his gait, 
Halting his speech, and e’en his 
wit 

Uncertain, dull or late; 

His clothes may bear full many 
a patch, 

Or hang in tatters down— 
What matter since his upheld 
brow 

Is graced by honor’s crown? 

How often do I turn aside 

To meet his fearless gaze, 
When heart is sick, or brain 
disturbed 

By falsehood’s dizzying maze. 
From one long glance of those 
clear eyes 

Where truth’s twin signals 
burn, 

My hopes their flagging pinions 
lift, 

And dark distrust I spurn. 

Though beauty, grace, or wit, 
my boy, 

You long may crave in vain, 
A greater prize may crown 
your life: 









A soul all free from stain. 

And only this can give to you 
An eye that knows no fear, 

But ever meets the searching gaze 
Unquailing, bright, and clear. 


□ □ □ 


THE LOST LESSON 

There once was a poet who wrote in his lays, 

Of music and joy and of life’s merry ways 
He sang of fair ladies, each madam and maid 
Herself in his song to discover essayed. 

When he wrote of brave men, of knights of renown, 
Each man saw himself in the lines written down. 

One day by an impulse unwonted and new, 

He wrote of a mortal unpleasant to view. 

He said, “Now this man his true portrait will see, 
And straightway, of course, a changed mortal will be.” 
But alas for his hope, the man read the song, 

And said, “That is Jones, I will pass it along.” 

And Jones said, “ ’Tis Smith, I will send it to him,” 
And Smith passed it on to poor Brown with a vim. 
But never a soul, cried, “This portrait is mine, 

Thus lost was the lesson which lurked in each line. 


202 


THE WINNERS 


Here is a motto fine for you 

Which fosters hope undying, 
’Tis held within one simple line, 

You always can keep trying. 

What though the heights you 
long to scale 

Seem ever toil defying, 

This thought must flagging zeal 
renew, 

You always can keep trying. 

And though the “Alps on Alps 
arise,” 

Your goal beyond them lying, 
They must be scaled if still you 
climb, 

Discouragements denying. 

The world, ’tis true, is full of 
men 

O’er dismal failure sighing, 
But they are not the men who 
still 

With dauntless hearts kept 
trying. 


203 










If sure you’re right then steadily 
March on, with colors flying, 

Some day you’ll sing with joyful voice, 
“I’m glad I kept on trying.” 


□ □ □ 


THE TELL-TALE 

Here is a truth, dear boys and girls, I’m sure you want 
to know it, 

Whatever hides within your heart your tell-tale face 
will show it. 

If all your thoughts are good and true your face will 
well reveal it, ... 

But if the opposite you hold, the whole wide world will 

feel it. 

So do not think your heart holds fast the thoughts which 
form your living, 

Your tell-tale face is always there, and all the truth is 
giving. 

Then keep your thoughts on all things high, the true 
and good compelling, 

The while your tell-tale face each day good stories will 
be telling. 


204 


KINDS OF WORDS 


You talk along so very fast 
By night as well as day, 

And have you thought how many kinds 
Of words you have to say? 

And first of all the names of things 
Are always “Nouns” you know, 

That is, of things you see and feel, 

Like dog, or rain, or hoe. 

Then Pronouns stand instead of Nouns, 
Their usefulness you’ll see, 

Instead of often saying “John,” 

We use the Pronoun “He.” 

The Articles are little words, 

And there are only three, 

Before the Nouns they often stand, 

They are A, An or The. 

Then you will find the good old Verbs 
About the Nouns they tell, 

What they may do, or feel or be, 

They show us very well. 

The Adjectives describe the Nouns, 

As “good boy” “pleasant night,” 

The Adverb shows how things are done, 
As “She sings well tonight.” 


205 


The Prepositions, useful are 
To show how nouns may be 
Related to some other Noun, 

As “John will stay to tea.” 

Conjunction, always must connect 
The sentences, or Nouns, 

As “Jane and John drove out and saw 
The cities and the towns.” 

With all these parts of speech 
Well settled in your mind, 

To study Grammar then, I think, 
You’ll surely feel inclined. 


□ □ □ 


A COMPLAINT 

The things they teach at school these days 
Seem very queer to me, 

They teach them how to sew and saw 
And how to trim a tree. 

They teach them how to give “first aid” 
When anyone is hurt, 

And how to plan a bungalow 
And how to “hang” a skirt. 

They teach them how to dig and plant 
The seeds in early spring, 

And what to do at “gym” and how 
To draw and dance and sing. 


206 


And many other things they teach, 

More than I’ve time to tell. 

But words they write, no one can read, 
And none of them can spell. 

Nor can they tell us which came first, 
The Roman or the Greek; 

Nor what the rules of grammar are 
By which they ought to speak. 

The dictionary puzzles them, 

Because they cannot tell 

Just where is R, and where is V, 

And what comes after L. 

They cannot tell just how they’re held 
On this terrestrial ball, 

And which are planets, which are stars, 
They do not know at all. 

If one should name a president, 

They question, “Who is he?” 

But names of “movie” actors all 
They mention, full and free. 

If one protests against the “stuff” 

With which young heads they cram, 

He’s quickly called with emphasis, 

“A poor old-fashioned clam.” 


207 


MY MOTHER’S FACE 

When life is hard, when days are dull, 
And freely fall the tears, 

My mother’s face of tender grace, 

In vision fair appears. 

With that bright vision hope looks up, 
And seems to smile at me, 

No change I fear while waiting near 
My mother’s face I see. 

Across the years to childish days 
In happiness I fare, 

A loving voice bids me rejoice, 

Nor doubt God’s love and care. 


□ □ □ 


THE THIEF 

“Procrastination is the thief of time.” 

Procrastination! woeful word, 

By it no memories sweet are stirred, 
As o’er our days the mind flits back 
And traces every wayward track, 
This single word we find to blame, 
For much of misery and shame. 


208 



No change I fear while waiting near my mother's face. 

















“The thief of time,” we’re taught to say, 
But more than that it steals each day, 
It snatches love and hope and joy, 

And happy trust it must destroy. 

It leaves us naught of worth and truth, 
Then shun it now while in your youth. 
That it may never steal your hold 
On treasures dearer far than gold. 


□ □ □ 


“JUST IN STYLE” 

Whene’er we go upon the street, 

Though walking scarce a mile 
We hear these words from old and young, 
“Now that is just in style.” 

A maid may have a thousand charms, 

Be loving, fair and true, 

But if she be not “just in style,” 

Admirers will be few. 

O, “just in style, yes, just in style,” 
Incessant is the cry, 

For this we toil, for this we moil, 

While better things go by. 


210 


A man may be a gentleman, 

And own the virtues all, 

But if he be not “just in style” 

His welcome will be small. 

But, what a happy world we’d have, 
And how we all would smile, 

If justice, truth and courtesy 
Gould all become “the style.” 


m □ □ 


A CRY BABY 

A little maid sat crying in the sun, 

Birds, butterflies and flowers all around her, 

She had no eyes for them, but cried and cried, 

Until her pretty mother came and found her. 

And what do you think this small Miss wanted? 

Now this is true and not a word in fun, 

She sat there in the sunlight crying 
For mother’s pillow shams to sleep upon. 

Now I’ve been thinking, wouldn’t it be fun 

To put this little maid and all of those who cry 
For silly things, together in the sun, 

Would you be in that crowd beneath the summer sky? 

Why, no, of course not, since you never cry, 

But turn upon the world a merry, laughing face, 

To cry, and cry, when all the world is gay, 

Is nothing more nor less, I think, than just disgrace. 


211 


So now remember this, and if at times 

You cannot have just everything you want to keep, 
Don’t be like this poor foolish, little girl 

Who cried, upon the pillow shams, so fine, to sleep. 


□ □ □ 


THE MAGIC LOOM 

There lived a weaver wan and old, 

Who wove wide webs of purest gold; 

With plain brown thread was the bright work done, 
As he steadily toiled from sun to sun. 

And far and wide went the weaver’s fame, 

Until at last to the royal ear it came. 

“Ho!” cried the king, “who goes with me? 

This caitiff’s secret my own must be.” 

Then a dozen knights stood forth in pride, 

Eager for place at the monarch’s side. 

But just as the king had mounted his steed 
There came a message with lightning speed 
(Sent by a sage who dwelt apart 
Pondering his books and his own sad heart), 

And thus it ran:—“In vain thy ride, 

Till purged art thou of selfish pride. 

For only those whose hearts are true 
Can hope this wondrous work to do.” 

But with angry words that ill became 
A monarch’s state and noble name, 

The king arose in his stirrups gilt 


212 





■;|: 


:: ' ■: 


1/1M Wl 


L 


For it changed to rags beneath their eyes , 
































































And grasped his sword by its jeweled hilt. 
“Begone,” he cried, “with thy bodings ill. 

Proof will I bring of my power and skill.” 

Then away they rode o’er hill and plain, 
Scorning alike the sun and the rain; 

And wherever they went, men paused to view 
The steel-clad king and his retinue. 

As the third day died they stood before 
The lowly arch of the weaver’s door. 

The goodly crowd, with its trappings gay 
Aroused from his toil the weaver gray. 

“The king,” he said, “Ah, this web shall be 
A gift for his gracious majesty.” 

He came slowly out, so bent and old, 

But in his hand was a web of gold. 

But the king exclaimed, “Thy gift put by, 

’Tis not for this that my knights and I 
Have ridden so far; but this is my will, 

The secret to know of thy wondrous skill.” 

The weaver looked down at his web of gold, 
And seemed with himself to counsel hold, 

Then sighed as he glanced at the weary throng, 
“ ’Tis true indeed that the way was long,— 

So come, O king, beneath my roof, 


214 


Here are my loom, my warp and my woof. 

My magic art I will straight impart, 

For surely the king is pure of heart.” 

The weaver sat at the battered loom, 

While the throng filled all the narrow room; 
And the proud king watched as the shuttle went 
Back and forth by the weaver sent. 

As the shining fabric grew apace, 

He cried, “O weaver, give place, give place.” 

Then down he sat at the battered loom, 

While his boastful laugh rang through the room, 
As back and forth the brown thread flew, 
Brighter and fairer the wide web grew. 

He stopped the loom with an eager hand, 

“Ah, none,” said he, “can the king withstand, 
And what do I for their warnings care, 

When webs of gold in my hand I bear?” 

Then carefully forth the web he drew 
And held it up for their better view. 

But woe to the king and his shining prize, 

For it changed to rags beneath their eyes. 

Then again in wrath o’er the loom he bent 
While steadily still the worn shuttle went. 

As filled once more was the waiting space, 

A smile triumphant lit his face. 


215 


Alas! the moment the loom was stayed, 

Ere on the web his hand was laid, 

It fell at his feet a worthless mass 
Which even a beggar in scorn would pass. 

Yet again to his fruitless task he turned, 

While an angry light ’neath his lashes burned, 

But as fast the thread on its errand went 
A look of dismay on the web he bent. 

No more was woven a web of light, 

But hideous figures appalled his sight. 

Affrighted he left the clattering loom, 

While rang these words through the silent room,— 
“Though all may here these webs begin, 

The unselfish heart alone may win, 

For what the soul doth in secret hold 
This loom will faithfully here unfold. 

And though many a grace your heart may bear, 
They are naught if self is the ruler there.” 

Sadly the monarch turned away 
And left alone this weaver gray. 

Though still this loom with its telltale power, 
Goes weaving on with every hour, 

Of all who come to the weaver old 
How few return with a web of gold. 


216 


THE LAST WORD 


Some happy rhymes, told many times, 
From tots to teens they run, 

These tales they tell, O read them well, 
And soon you’ll know each one, 

These jingle rhymes, told many times, 

Of many different things, 

Of girls and boys, and nonsense joys 
And birds with tireless wings. 

May these gay rhymes give you good times 
The wish I wish for you, 

So if you’re glad, or maybe sad, 

Just read a verse or two. 



217 



































































































































































































ALPHABETICAL INDEX OF TITLES 

Page 

All Aboard for Shut-Eye-Town. 4 g 

At Bed-Time . 41 

At Christmas . 183 

At the Zoo. 199 

At Twilight. 191 

August Song, The. 152 

Baby’s Answer. 193 

Bad Spell, A. 89 

Birdie’s and Mine. 131 

Bless ’Em . 100 

Bloodless Battle, A. 79 

Blue Bird, The. 140 

Bobby at School. 120 

Bob White . 128 

Boy Who Cannot Cry, The. 50 

Bringing Them True. 183 

Bunch of Letters, A. 103 

Busy Fairies. 108 

Chewink, The. 143 

Christmas . 168 

Christmas Cheer . 166 

Christmas Conclusion, A . 184 

Christmas Eve . 179 

Christmas Lesson, A . 175 

Christmas Prayer, A . 178 

Circus . 83 

Complaint, A . 206 

Cricket’s Song, The. 33 

Crow, The . 136 

Cry Baby, A. 211 

Dinner Tree, The. 78 

Disappointed Company, A. 41 

Discontent . H7 

Do You? . 187 

Eagle and the Wren, The. 133 

Everywhere . 106 

Farmer Brown and Justice. 84 

Feathered Teacher, A. 154 

Fireflies, The . 107 

Fireworks . 63 

Four Little Fishermen. 30 


219 











































ALPHABETICAL INDEX OF TITLES —Continued 


Fourth and the Fifth, The 
Frown’s Companion, The. 
Fuss and Feathers. 


Page 
. 81 
. 52 
. 154 


Giggling String, The 

“Girlstrous” . 

Gossip . 

Grandfather’s Fire . 


His Resolve .. 
Honest Eyes .. 
Hungry Boy, A 



If I Could. 

If You Want to Be Loved 

Important . 

In a Peanut Shell. 

In May Time. 

In the Fashion. 


136 

22 

24 

38 

30 


Jack Frost. 

“Just In Style” 


114 

210 


Kinds of Words... 


205 


Last Ball, The. 

Last Word, The. 

Little Boy and the Trees, The 

Little Boy’s Puzzle, The. 

Little Feet . 

Lonesome Child, The. 

Lost Lesson, The. 


62 

217 

118 

115 

23 

124 

202 


Magic Loom, The. 

“Many Birds of Many Kinds” 

Meadow Lark, The. 

Mother . 

Mother’s Boy . 

My Fairies . 

My Mother’s Face . 

My Mother’s Smile . 


212 

160 

145 

28 

188 

26 

208 

199 


Name for the Baby, A 
Narrow Escape, A. ... 

Need, The . 

Neglect . 


190 

180 

102 

89 


220 








































ALPHABETICAL INDEX OF TITLES —Continued 

No Admittance . 72 

Nobody’s Cat . ^ 

Nonsense Wheel, The. 45 

“Not His Fault”. pg 

Old Santa’s Hard Times. 

On Christmas Morning. J 57 

One Perfect Night. 176 

Order for Removal, An. 71 

Oriole, The. I 53 

Packed Astronomy . 95 

Patience .. !!!!!!!.!!! 124 

Patty Grimm . 28 

Perplexed . 75 

Pewee, The . 162 

Plaster, The . 66 

Possible Tragedy, A. 90 

Problem in Peas, A. 116 

Promise, The . 126 

Quail, The . 144 

Queen of Toloo, The. 70 

Queer Clock, A. 122 

Remedy, A . 194 

Reversed . Ill 

River of Tears, A. 47 

Robin, The . 127 

Robin’s Song, The. 146 

Runaway, The . 67 

Sad Case of Clementine Isabel, The. 162 

Sad Plight, A. 74 

Sad Singer, A. 151 

Safe Secret, A. 130 

Sapling, The . 21 

Saved by April Fool. 92 

Sea, The . 103 

Secret Keeper, The. 34 

Selfish Sparrow, The. 138 

Selling the Baby. 52 

Shutting Out the “Tear-Man”. 77 

Small Light, The. 86 

So Few . 146 

Some Explanations . 59 

221 












































ALPHABETICAL INDEX OF TITLES —Continued 


Something to Be Thankful For 

Song of Cheer, A. 

Spiders That Danced, The.... 

Staying Awake . 

“Stolen Sweets” . 

Summer Roll Call, The. 

Summer Wind, The. 

Sun-Dial, The . 


Page 
, 123 
189 
. 75 
. 110 
. 112 
. 57 
. 186 
. 58 


Tell-Tale, The . 

Thief, The . 

To the Wren. 

Trap the Fox Made, The 

Traveled Hen, The. 

Two Promenaders . 


204 

208 

135 

105 

158 

148 


Universal Zoo, The. 

Unwelcome Visitor, The 


96 

156 


Wanderer, The . 

Welcome to March. 

What For? . 

What Is Sweeter?. 

When Teddie Is Asleep. 

When the Snow Comes. 

Where It Listeth. 

Which One? . 

Which Way? . 

Whip-Poor-Will, The . 

Why? . 

Why Tommy Went Barefoot 

Winners, The . 

With Mary Ann. 

Wondrous Night, The. 


162 

100 

90 

68 

36 

118 

88 

142 

25 

161 

166 

55 

203 

87 

177 


222 









































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